


Serpentine Habits

by JuliaConstantine



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Betty Cooper mentioned - Freeform, Blood and Injury, Dark Jughead Jones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Sweet Pea, Jughead Jones Whump, Jughead and Sweet Pea are good friends, Jughead doesn't know how to take care of himself, Jughead is a badass, Jughead just wants to sleep, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Not really hurt so much as tired, Protective Sweet Pea (Riverdale), Serpent King Jughead Jones, Stressed Jughead Jones, Sweet Pea deserves more screen time so here's what I'm doing, soft sweet pea, sweet pea is a softie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23327269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaConstantine/pseuds/JuliaConstantine
Summary: Being the leader of a gang isn't easy. Leading a gang who is struggling financially and can't seem to catch a break when you're 16 is even harder. All that stress has led to Jughead picking up some strange, and not entirely healthy habits.OrJughead is super busy and stressed out
Relationships: Jughead Jones & Southside Serpents Gang, Jughead Jones & Sweet Pea, Jughead/A nap
Comments: 40
Kudos: 84





	1. Sleeping

No one knew exactly when it started, but sometime in the two-week period after becoming the Serpent King, Jughead began to act strangely. It wasn’t even how he acted really, and more like the habits he quickly seemed to be falling into as the stress of leading weighed down on him more and more. For starters, he looked over his shoulder a lot, and not just when he was dealing with Serpent business. The kid was paranoid to begin with, and no one could blame him with the amount of beatings he took regularly, but this was at a new level even for him. You become the leader of a gang, and you get a new target on your back, so paranoia is pretty normal. However, that is where the normalities ended and the weirdness began.

The newly appointed Serpent King was constantly busy. Whether it was at school, his job or the White Wyrm, he always seemed to be doing one thing or another, and it begged the question: When did he find the time to sleep? Seriously, the pale teen could be found working determinedly on at least one thing, no matter the hour. Five in the morning? Homework. Seven thirty? Helping his friends with a mystery, or picking up an hour shift at Pop’s. After that it was school, and the lunch bell often saw Jughead sneaking off with Fangs to work on some Serpent project. Once school was out he was off to work, and at six or so he went home to grab some supper and catch up with FP before doing his homework; sometimes. More often than not he skipped over his house entirely, grabbing a bite when his shift ended at Pop’s, and driving over to the White Wyrm to meet with the older Serpents about gang matters. It was either that, or he went to the makeshift camp and helped them put out burning tents and continue in their efforts to prepare for a winter without houses.

The longer he was King, the later he got home, and more and more the question burned into Sweat Pea’s brain. How the hell did Jones manage to get any sleep?

As it turned out, the answer was simple; he didn’t. Sure, there was some time between getting home and his 5 am alarm in which he got a couple hours, but even that wasn’t a constant. So, what happens when you don’t get enough sleep? You start nodding off despite yourself, and that’s exactly what began happening to Jughead. A lot of the time he got away with power napping in his classes, since he was way ahead in them anyway and the teachers knew it too. Unfortunately that just wasn’t enough, and by the time he got to dealing with the Serpents he looked ready to drop, with circles under his eyes that were dark enough to swallow the White Wyrm whole. Interestingly enough, that was exactly why every Serpent around gave him their full attention and genuinely respected the kid. Well, that and he’d been willing to lay down his life to save theirs, and had almost succeeded in his efforts, to the grief of FP.

Despite his complete exhaustion, the only clues the teen ever let slip were the dark circles under his eyes; in every other aspect Jughead was awake and ready to take on the world. His ocean orbs were sharp as ice, his shoulders were straight -if a little tense- and each word he spoke was calculated and usually easy to hear (unless he was in one of his thinking frenzies). The kid was a young, but he was a strong leader, and whatever mistakes he made, he always made up for them ten-fold. He was a King, and he did his best to act like it...until the end of the night.

At around ten or eleven everything was taken care of (sometimes it was only nine), and every night recently without fail, Jones’ head began to nod, his shoulders slumped and the great Serpent King crumbled into a pile of tired teen. Usually he favored the sagging couches laying around the Wyrm, or he claimed the overstuffed chair at the campsite, but sometimes Jughead simply crouched in the corner near the pool table or sat down on the rough ground. Most nights Fangs found Jug slumped over on a love seat, beanie crumpled against his head and lips slightly parted as small breathes made their way in and out. He would smile softly and settle the kid’s jacket over his long frame, easing his head into a more comfortable position and chuckling kindly as the noirette snuggled farther down into the cushions.

Sometimes Toni discovered him curled up in a corner, cheek pressed against the wall as he tried to fold in on himself, leaving the world of noise behind as he fell into the welcoming arms of sleep. The purple-haired girl was always amazed that the raucous pool game going on just a foot away didn’t wake the guy, but she knew from experience that exhaustion could be a cage, and the sounds of people laughing and balls knocking against each other weren’t gonna free him from it. Still she’d smirk exasperatedly and carefully shake him awake, making sure not to make a scene out of it(Jughead was shyer than her as a ten year old sometimes). Once he’d mumbled himself into consciousness, she’d help him up and accompany him back home to ensure he didn’t fall off his bike, then the Serpent sass queen would salute him cheekily and joke about him squatting in someone else’s favorite drinking corner. Yet when the emo teen had stumbled into the house she’d stay where she was for a while longer, worry pooling in her dark eyes as she watched the lights in the windows blink out.

Yeah, usually it was someone else finding Jones passed out in a corned, another serpent dropping a blanket on the shivering kid’s shoulders when he fell asleep on the armchair by the fire, or Betty taking him home to help her solve yet another mystery. But not today.

Sweet Pea had had a long day, and it was with aching feet that he trudged through the camp on the way to his tent, his mind thrumming with ugly thoughts of school and bills and whiny Northsiders. Why did reading have to be so hard? Everyone else did it with ease, and Toni gobbled up novels like they were candy, but whenever he so much as looked at a page he started getting a headache. The words mixed together, spacing out in weird patterns while the dots on the I’s and j’s danced around, and sometimes whole words just disappeared all together.

He’d looked it up once, frustration leading to curiosity about his predicament. Imagine his anger when he realized that he’d need to read to figure out why he couldn’t read. The only word that had stayed in focus long enough for him to get a good look at it was “dyslexia” and he was left with the vague assumption that this was some kinda mental mix up, and he had it. He could ask Toni to read him the information, of course. Hell, he could even get his older brother Christian to tell him what was so screwed up in his brain. But he just couldn’t do it, he couldn’t bring himself to swallow his pride and ask the god-awful question.

“Why can’t I read?”

Forget that, why did bills have to be so expensive, and why’d they come around every single month? Seriously, couldn’t they take a break around holidays or something?

Scuffing a boot against the ground, Sweet Pea growled low in his throat, clenching and unclenching his fists as he fought the sudden and overpowering urge to punch something. Anger wasn’t always the answer, or at least that’s what Christian said, but damn it, it sure felt better than crying. He’d lost his job today, with his boss saying something about serpents and kicking him out without his paycheck. How was he going to go home? How could he sit down to supper with Christian, only to tell the older man that he couldn’t help with finances this month cause he was broke?

The tall serpent’s mind whirled with questions, imaginary scenarios filled his head, and angry voices banging against his skull while chairs broke making sounds like gunshots. One hand clutching his hair Sweet Pea stumbled around a tent-trailer hybrid, only to stop dead in his tracks as his eyes took in the scene before him.

A body. Thin and weak, and looking like any other homeless guy except for one thing; the Serpent jacket adorning his shoulders. Only that wasn’t the issue. Sure it was a little disturbing to see a very dead looking body lying in the dirt, and yeah the fact that a Serpent was maybe-murdered in their own camp was definitely cause for alarm. But this...

Sweet Pea didn’t panic often. It was kind of his selling point when it came to hiring him for tough jobs or taking him on life-threatening missions, and it definitely came in handy when dealing with the shit hand that life had dealt him. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d really, truly lost it.

Standing here now though, finding Jones in a crumpled heap sprawled on the cold autumn ground, face off to the side and with no obvious breaths pushing against his ribs? He couldn’t fucking breathe. Frozen panic was running through his veins, and the myriad of raucous thoughts that once battered his head had come to a shocking halt, reminding him just how quiet the camp was at 8:00 at night.

Was he injured? Had he been knocked out, and if so by who? Was he dead? This wasn’t...this couldn’t be...Focus! If he is hurt then you’re not doing him a lick of good by standing here life a stuffed turkey.

Crouching down next to the still teen Sweet Pea cautiously rolled him onto his back, taking care not to jostle him too much just in case he was badly injured. The grey beanie slipped away from the kid’s dark curls as his head lulled limply to the side, revealing his face in all of it’s undamaged glory. He wasn’t injured. Not visibly anyway, because of course their could be hidden bruising or broken bones, and maybe even a concussion, but from the limited lighting he looked...exhausted. Deep purple bruises lined the bags under his eyes, his brows knitted together slightly even in unconsciousness, and his complexion was more haggard than his friend had ever seen it.

Frowning, Sweet Pea felt his panic fade to concern as he shifted the teen’s head into his lap, folding and pocketing the beanie as he did. Jones didn’t so much as twitch, staying unnervingly still as the older boy looked him up and down, pulling at his jacket to make sure he didn’t have any hidden stab wounds. As he drew back leather however, his fingers bumped against something pointy and hard sticking out under the fabric of the iconic “S” Tshirt. Leaving the dark material hanging away from his friend’s body, Sweet Pea carefully prodded at the object with his finger tips, only to be startled by a sudden realization. It was a rib. Feeling around the area he found about four more of these bony protrusions, each one seeming more sharp and out of place than the last. Ribs shouldn’t stick out like that.

Sighing softly, Sweet Pea curled his arms around the smaller boy, securing one under his knees and the other around his shoulders as he shuffled into a kneeling position. With one breath he lifted the limp form into his arms, cradling him to his chest as he began to move in the direction of his tent, hoping that it hadn’t been burned down in the last day or two.

Keeping his pace slow and measured as he walked, he could already imagine the call from Christian that he’d undoubtedly get in an hour.

Why aren’t you home yet?

_I was need_ _ed at camp, you know how much the Serpents have been struggling recently._ (I think my friend is hanging on the edge of an exhaustion coma)

Will you be back tomorrow night?

_I don’t know, things are a little hectic here._ (I found the Serpent King lying unconscious in the dirt)

How’s work going?

_Looks like I’ll be getting my paycheck late, something about a delay at the bank._ (I lost my job and I don’t know how to tell you)

He cursed quietly as he tripped on a dip in the ground, only just managing to right himself as his burden swayed precariously in his arms, the younger boy’s head coming to rest against his collarbone. Looking down at the exhausted face laying against his chest Sweet Pea faux grumbled under his breath, slowly picking his way around any other obstacles hidden by the darkness.

“I was gonna use this as teasing material for years to come, but oh no. You just have to go on lookin all vulnerable and small. That’s playing dirty Jones, so cut it out.”

He might as well have been talking to a rock for all the response he got, because the teen’s only answer was his head rolling gently upward as Sweet Pea took a longer stride, ebony curls softly tickling at the older Serpent’s neck.

The journey came to an abrupt end as Sweet Pea halted, bending slightly and ducking sideways into his tent, ever mindful of the boneless sack of emo in his arms. Squinting in the darkness, he carefully lowered the boy onto an extra cot, bringing himself into a kneeling position as he did, and gradually retracting his hands as the mattress squeaked under the extra weight. Standing up again, Sweet Pea flicked on a make-shift light and set about righting the things in the slightly windblown tent, securing the flaps closed with twine as he did, and grabbing a pillow off his bed before returning to the cot.

A low breath escaped him as he took in the teen, eyes searching the thin form for anything he might have missed in the dim night, aided by the warm lamplight bathing the canvas walls of his temporary home. If he’d thought Jones looked bad before it was nothing compared to now, seeing his overly pale skin, dark eye circles, and worn features. That wasn’t what made him pause though, the thing that truly sent ice flowing through Sweet Pea’s veins was how small his friend looked. Even bundled up in a Tshirt, a flannel, AND his jacket, he looked tiny, dwarfed by the too narrow cot he currently occupied.

The Serpent shook his head roughly, eyes slamming shut and opening again only to find the same dreaded sight. Jones sprawled out on the bed, breathing slow and subdued, tired face slightly pinched as if worried, with his head limply lulling to the side. This wasn’t him. Jones was small, sure. Thin? Always. His crazy metabolism made quick work of the endless burgers he liked to consume. But weak, vulnerable, fragile? Never. Well...almost never. Sweet Pea quickly crushed any flashbacks of the guy’s broken body being carried out of the woods, instead focusing on his friend's exhausted frame. Jones was sharp as a switchblade, and as hard as nails. If Sweet Pea was the physical representation of an angry fist about to punch somebody out, then Jones symbolized a knife. Lean but sharp, and deadly if provoked. But he wasn’t that right now.

What the hell? Why did this bug him so much? It wasn’t like the guy was dead or anything, and besides he was the one inconveniencing a perfectly good night of...

“Who am I kidding? I can’t do this, I just can’t, not tonight.” His voice was low and weary, and he knew it was true. He couldn’t deflect this worry with humor, couldn’t put up his usual walls and act like he didn’t care. A soft sigh escaped him, and pulling over a crate he slumped down on it, staring down at the sleeping form in front of him.

“I care, alright? You’re an asshole fifty percent of the time, but I don’t hate you. Just in case you thought I did, I uh, I don’t. It’s your way of dealing with everything and I get it, probably better than most.” Rubbing tiredly at his eyes, the dark-skinned teen began to wonder if he was really losing it, talking to Jones like this. But, hey, he was asleep, and right now he needed to say this.

“I dunno why this matters so much honestly, but I guess...I guess it’s cause you’re there, you know? I mean you’ve had your absences in the past, running off with Ponytail, but everyone has. Toni went around stealing with Cheryl, and Fangs had that run in with the farm, so all things considering you’ve done pretty good. Especially recently, what with the whole leading the Serpents, and actually managing to keep a job. You’ll have to give me some pointers when you wake up.” A bitter chuckle escaped him, and for just a moment he felt the despair begin to drag him down. Keep talking. He’d never been much of a conversationalist, but right now it seemed like rambling to an unconscious kid was the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Look, I just, I don’t want you going off feeling all sorry for yourself cause you think no one sees how hard you’re working to do what’s right for the Serpents.”

That having been said he reached out, carefully supporting the younger boy’s shoulders as he lifted him into a sitting position and slipping one arm under his jacket and around his chest. Then, firmly holding him with one hand, he used the other to work the leather sleeves off his shoulders and pull it away from his back. Tucking the jacket under one arm, Sweet Pea quickly lowered the teen back onto the cot, shifting the pillow he’d grabbed earlier into position under his head. Twisting around, the older Serpent hung the jacket over the railing of his own bed, smoothing out the wrinkles with practiced ease before turning back to his friend.

He began to reach toward the sleeping form but stopped, frowning slightly as he considered his next actions. Jones had been unconscious when he found him and he still didn’t know why, although he had a pretty good guess as to what had happened. His friend was private by nature, and Sweet Pea didn’t want to invade that privacy, but he was also terrible at taking care of himself. Decision made.

Once again leaning forward, he peeled back the open flannel and in one anxiety-fuelled movement he pulled the grey Tshirt up leaving the teens chest bare. Releasing a breath he hadn’t known he was holding Sweet Pea stared at the younger serpent’s bared torso, his gaze travelling the bony lumps protruding beneath white skin. Lean chest muscles covered the upper ones, but other than that...every single one of Jones’ ribs were showing, clear as day.

Breathing in, the dark serpent gently laid a calloused hand on the younger boy’s chest, gently running it across ivory skin as he felt each rib pressing against the seemingly delicate barrier keeping them contained. His next breath out was admittedly shaky, and he pulled his hand back as if it had been burned, his face mirroring the pain he’d be in if he had. This was wrong. Jones ate like a truck driver, and there was no way a bit of stress would make him stop. Hell, the guy actually ate more in morbid or life-threatening situations than any other time he knew of. Him being this thin, it, it wasn’t right.

That wasn’t the only issue. He had jerked his hand back, not because it was hot, but because it was cold. The teen’s skin was icy, although not quite hypothermic, and that had been the center of his body, his core! Pulling down the tshirt, Sweet Pea shifted the plaid into place over it, and jumped up to grab the blankets from his bed before coming to a standstill beside his friend.

What did he do? Obviously he should get the blankets on him, and pulling over the rickety space heater would be good too, but would it help? Blankets contained body heat, and Jones didn’t seem to have much of that right now, despite his obvious lack of shivering...not shivering was bad wasn’t it? No, it might just mean that he wasn’t that cold, and he shouldn’t be right? It wasn’t that cold out there, even if you were laying on the hard ground with next to no body fat. One step at a time.

Dropping the blankets on the bed he moved down to the end, quickly stripping the teen of his boots and placing them on the floor before hurrying over to grab the heater. In his experience, boots were great at keeping the cold out, but once it got in they only served as a barrier to hold the icy air captive with your foot. Turning knobs and spinning an old dial, the older serpent pointed the heater at the cot, giving it a quiet whack when it didn’t immediately respond. At this point it was a miracle that the crumbling antique hadn’t burnt down his tent. Then again, until recently he hadn’t needed it due to the warm summer weather.

Picking up the first blanket Sweet Pea firmly wrapped it around the frozen boy’s shoulders, tucking it in all around him and working his way down, repeating the process with the next one. Eyes flicking from Jones’ face, to the heater and back again, the worried serpent couldn’t stop the quip from escaping him.

“The one time I’m the person to find you, and you’re passed out on the ground with the beginnings of hypothermia, and less weight on you than a sparrow. Real classy, Jones.”

It was meant to be a quick joke, something to lighten the mood or at least make him feel a little less worried, but the last three words were uttered shakily. Well, he couldn’t leave it like that.

Sitting down on the crate he let out a sigh, his gaze shifting once again to the his friend’s haggard face as he gathered his thoughts, trying to come up with any semblance of something to say. Why did it matter? Jones was unconscious, so anything he did say would just be lost to the night. Taking this as it’s queue, his mouth blurted out the first thing his brain gave it.

“You’re not really a burden. I mean, I know I make it sound like that sometimes, and, and just now that’s what it seemed like I was saying, but...” Wow, what a genius thing to say man, keep it up. He sighed yet again, only this one was long and tired, and as he sighed he felt his shoulders sagging.

“Life, life is hard, okay? It...it seriously sucks a good ninety percent of the time, and some days it seems like all you can do is lay down and die. I get it. Right about now I’m not real sure if I’m gonna make it through high school, let alone tell future generations about everything we did. But we did do something, have done something, and we’re still doing things. Things most teens would never even dream of. And we’ve been through shit that no kid would ever see in their worst nightmares. It’s what makes us us, and sometimes after, after that insane stuff, normal life is still what gets you.”

He was blabbering now and he knew it, but for the life of him he couldn’t stop, not until he’d said this. His voice was getting huskier by the minute, and at some point it would try and crack on him. But not now. Rubbing a hand through his hair he continued on, gaze resting solely on the grey beanie held gently in both hands.

“That’s, that’s the thing about school, about work, and life, and everything that everyone says is normal. It’s so much harder than any bar fight or gang war that we’ve ever been through. Cause in a gang war all it takes is a bullet and you’re done, one flash of pain and you’re dead. But life, life’s a torture chamber. It offers you something good and then you do something it doesn’t like and it’s gone. It keeps beating you up for information you just don’t have.”

Pinching at the bridge of his nose, the dark teen took a breath, shakily letting it out as he sighed for the umpteenth time that night. What was he saying? What the hell was he rambling on about? Life? Gang wars? What was he doing? Whatever it was he didn’t know how to halt, because the next words dropped from his mouth before he could stop them.

“What I’m trying to say here, is that life will kill you if let it, and you can’t let it. You can’t...”

A frustrated growl rumbled in his throat, and his eyes snapped up to look at his friend’s drawn features as he took one chilled hand in both of his own.

“Look we need you, Jones! We can’t do this without you, so you can’t lose to life. Alright, you’ve gotta beat it like all the guys that have tried to take you out!”

His head dropped, and he was left staring at the ringed hand in his and the grey beanie mushed between them. The next words were quiet, as if saying them any louder would wake the entire camp with their realness.

“You’re not alone, Jones. You never will be as long as I have a say in it, so don’t act like you are. Don’t think you can get away with not taking care of yourself, just cause you think no one cares about you.”

Sweet Pea listened to the younger teen’s breathing as it quickened slightly to less of a comatose pace and more of a healthy sleeping rate, softy blowing in through his cracked lips and out again. It looked like the heater was working in it’s assigned task, and even as he watched, Jones shifted his head slightly letting it fall to the side facing the older boy. Looking down at him now, Sweet Pea could only sigh in relief at the apparent progress, gently letting go of his friend's hand and carefully tucking the blankets up to his chin as he stood up stiffly.

He was gonna be okay. Those words brought a lot more comfort to him than they should’ve, causing him to pause, realizing just how much it had scared him to find his leader in such a fragile state. He hadn’t nearly died or anything, but it was kinda like what he had said about life. It was the little things that frightened you, the slow monotonous slog of everyday work that brought you down, and this was a perfect example.

Shaking his head, the dark serpent rubbed roughly at his eyes in an attempt to clear whatever dust was in there that was making them tear up. He wasn’t crying tears of relief, or release at finally being able to talk about what he was thinking, no way.

Moving back towards his own bed he stripped off his jacket and jeans, pulling on the soft flannel pajama pants and warm sweater that Toni had suggested he keep here. Sure he didn’t sleep here every night since he could always stay with Christian, but that didn’t mean that when he did bunk in his tent it had to be uncomfortable. He’d slept in his clothes plenty of times, but that didn’t mean he would when there were better things to wear to bed.

Slumping down on his cot, he leaned over to carefully deposit the beanie on the small table standing at the head of it. If anything happened to that thing Jones would kill someone, and he wouldn’t exactly be happy if his jacket got wrecked either, so both items of clothing were placed in his immediate line of sight for when he woke up. That done, Sweet Pea kicked off his boots and flicked off the lamp, laying down on the creaking mattress with a groan as his back muscles adjusted to the new position. Shifting onto his side, he stared across at the faint outline of his sleeping friend, blanket cocoon rising and falling gradually with each breath.

Yep, Jones had all the blankets. Curling up to contain his own body heat, the tired teen pulled a thin sheet over himself, all the while internally grumbling about blanket hogging little snakes. Yeah, this had been one hell of a night, but Jones was gonna be okay. Maybe they both were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some ideas for a few more chapters, but I was also thinking about making a shorter chapter with Jughead's POV of this one. What do you think?


	2. A Serpent's Fangs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had the idea that Jughead would always be on guard in case of danger, considering all that he's been through. And this sort of happened. It's not whumpy so much as deadly, but I'm happy with how it turned out.

Jughead may be high strung these days, he might look over his shoulder and jump more than he should when someone surprised him, however there was something very unsettling that he’d taken to doing. He carried a switchblade. Now that seemed pretty normal at first considering practically all the Serpents did, but he didn’t just keep one stashed in his jacket like Fangs, or even go right out and play around with it when he was bored like Sweet Pea, nor did he use it to trim his nails as Toni tended to do. 

He slept with it.

Not to say he had a knife fetish, or that he cuddled up with the thing to stay warm. No, this particular occurrence was a lot more disturbing than that, and it had any Serpent who saw it either staring or laughing quietly. 

Somehow the teen always managed to have a switchblade in hand while he slept, whether he was at home in his own bed or slumped exhaustedly on a couch at the White Wyrm, his unhealthy sleeping habits did nothing to stop this additional deadly one. 

Jughead would sit down and, sure as day, he’d begin to drift off amidst the evening chatter, and all the while his hand would remain completely devoid of any weaponry. The next time someone looked at him though, there was a piece of shining steel clutched in one ringed hand, and they had no clue as to how it got there. How did the kid do it?

At first it was kind of hilarious, seeing the quietly snoozing teen grip the knife loosely in one hand as if to symbolize that he still posed a threat, even in sleep. Some Serpent would chuckle, joking that their King always liked to stay sharp, and another one would laugh saying that they could rest easy. It was all in good fun of course, and none of them (almost none anyway) doubted that their young leader would do everything in his power to help the serpents in any way he knew how. After the brave sacrifice he had made it was hard not to respect the guy, and FP had been good to them, leaving most ready and willing to help his successor. 

One day however, it came to Fang’s attention that it really wasn’t safe to sleep with such a potentially lethal weapon so near to your fingers, leaving a high risk of injury should the teen jerk awake from a nightmare or the like. 

After that it became a rule that whoever saw Jughead sleeping with a knife was responsible for removing it from his hand and placing it nearby in anticipation of his eventual awakening. Once Fangs had carefully pried away the blade for the first time with no apparent consequences, the other Serpents confidently took up the task with the sole aim of ensuring their leader didn’t kill himself in his sleep.

Only a week after they’d started this, they realized there was a problem. The knife kept appearing in Jughead’s hand. You would think that the first person to notice would take it away and that would be that, but it soon dawned on them that no less than three people removed the blade every time the kid fell asleep(which was almost nightly). 

The revelation admittedly spooked a few of them, and after some debate they decided to change the rule slightly to account for this mysterious occurrence. Whoever saw their leader asleep with a switchblade would remove it and then place it on the corner of the bar between the peanut bowls, safely out of reach of the teen. It made sense since the kid had probably just been waking up when they weren’t looking and grabbing the knife from whatever nearby surface they’d plunked it on. 

A week later and it was still happening, much to curiosity and mild amazement of the Serpents. The switchblade always lay peacefully on the bar where one of them had placed it, but in the boy’s hand another one gleamed cheerily as if it knew how weirded out it was making all of them. 

So he had more than one, it was no big surprise considering his recent paranoia, and all things considering they should have expected it. 

The next night the ten Serpents occupying the bar were left staring down at not one, not two, but three shining switchblades, sitting benignly on the counter as if they weren’t supernaturally appearing in the limp hand of their King.

“What in the actual hell?”

Toni’s words seemed to perfectly sum up what they were all thinking, and with her usual blunt elegancy she added, “At least he hasn’t woken up and stabbed anybody yet.” Grunts and murmurs of agreement greeted her statement, and just like that the spell was broken, leaving them all to wander off to whatever they’d been doing, pointedly ignoring the fourth knife laying in Jughead’s palm.

The kid had always been weird, but this was a screwed up hybrid between blindingly funny and downright spooky. Yeah, it was hilarious to see the adorable snoozing noirette clutching a switchblade like he’d wake up and shank you while his ocean blue eyes squinted dazedly at your crumpled form. On the other hand though, the seemingly endless number of weapons mysteriously appearing in the soundly sleeping teens pale hand was starting to be less of a joke and more of a supernatural phenomenon that none of them could explain.

Deciding to let sleeping snakes lie they left it alone, accepting the fact that he seemed to have pretty good control over the thing even while unconscious, and filing the whole thing firmly under “Serpents are weird as Hell” 

Or they did, until the day that it wasn’t a joke anymore.

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It had been a slow Saturday morning, and seeing as they had no immediate obligations(for once) the younger Serpents had elected to hang out at the White Wyrm, watching Toni’s favorite movies on the old TV and practicing their dirty poker moves on each other. About seven adult’s were hanging around the bar, cheerfully joining in on a game where it suited them, and balancing out the numbers so the five teens could play team games fairly. 

Or at least they did until the team’s no longer needed to be balanced, because Jughead had fallen asleep on the sofa while watching some Disney movie with Toni and Cheryl. In his defense he had never cared for musicals, and the only reason he’d agreed to watch it was to appease the two sass queens after their humiliating defeat; they insisted he’d gained victory by cheating. 

Saturday it might be, but that didn’t mean their leader was any less tired than on a week day, meaning that between the mindless singing and the comforting sound of his friends laughing, he’d been out like a light. 

Languidly stretched out on the couch, the lanky teens limbs were a chaotic mess as they found rest anywhere from high on the back, to hanging limply off the edge. With his dark curls shadowing his pale face, his iconic beanie laying snugly on his head, and a switchblade held in one hand, his friends couldn’t decide what vibe he was giving off. 

Taking a vote, they went around the circle, each one calling out their opinion as they lazed around contentedly.

“Ridiculous,” Sweet Pea’s answer seemed mocking, but they knew it was meant as a joke.

“Dangerous,” Cheryl spoke flirtatiously knowing they’d see it as the jest that it was, considering how unthreatening the emo seemed even with the knife.

“Chaotic,” Fangs only just managed to snort out, desperately trying to contain his merriment at the bizarre sight on the couch.

“Mysterious” Toni’s vote came with a whimsical air, making it obvious that she had been trying to find a book character to compare him with and had failed miserably.

They all knew what they wanted to say, and they knew the others knew it too and shared the same opinion. Yet somehow they just couldn’t say it out loud, as if it would break the spell of calm and peace that had miraculously found it’s way to their little corner.  
He looked exhausted.

The dark circles had become so permanent that they seemed more like eyeliner or tattoos at this point, and none of them could remember the last time his steps hadn’t dragged on the way home at night. Realistically they knew he couldn’t keep this up, but damn if he wasn’t giving it his all.

“At least he’s sleeping now,” Toni said brightly, doing her best to lighten the heavy mood that had suddenly befallen them.

“And while he does we can relax and have fun TiTi!” Cheryl chirped happily, bouncing over to the pool table and dragging her girlfriend along with her. Chuckling, Sweet Pea and Fangs went over to verse them, knowing that if they let them compete against each other things would get uncomfortably flirty. Cheryl was right, they could just hangout for the time being, letting the brief reprieve from life wash over them. 

No sooner had this thought settled in their minds, than the door banged open revealing a group of thugs looking ready to rumble. Only it wasn’t just a group of thugs. There were ten in total, each one wearing a bandana with a scorpion printed on it and standing tall with arrogance. And each and every one of them held a handgun in one hand, leering with obvious satisfaction at the stricken looks on the Serpent’s faces. 

Panic froze Toni’s feet to the floor, leaving her gaping as her mind ran wild thinking of all the reasons this was supremely bad. It was another gang that they’d never heard of before, they got near the White Wyrm without any of the Serpents realizing or stopping them, and they were confident and not falsely so, so they had obviously done this kind of thing before and come out on top. Plus, they had guns. She had a switchblade!

One particularly mean-looking man stepped forward, casually waving his gun hello while calling out his nasally words loud enough for the whole bar to hear. “Hello there earthworms, having a nice day at daycare are we? Well I hate to interrupt nap time, but the ol’ claiming of territory statement has to be said, one way or another.”

There was a low growl, and suddenly Sweet Pea was stepping forward, angrily spitting his words out like the gang leader didn’t deserve the grace of his attention. “You’re not claiming any territory here pal, so clear out before I knock your block off.”

Toni couldn’t decide whether to groan internally or laugh externally. Sweet Pea had always been impulsive, and in a situation like this that could get him killed, but he also knew that this was dangerous and was reacting accordingly. In any other case he would’ve lunged forward instead of taking a single step, and while he was angrily threatening the gang leader, he hadn’t even raised a fist in threat.

The tall teen’s attempt at peaceful resolutions didn’t help him much when a woman zipped forward, swinging a leg around and knocking him to the ground with a vicious kick to the head. Fangs lurched forward as if to help his friend, only to freeze as he became aware of the gun another man was pointing at him. He knew what one of those could do, hell it’d almost killed him.

“As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted,” The man continued without missing a beat, cheerily stepping further into the bar as his cronies spread out around him, all aiming guns at the older Serpents and their drawn switchblades. “The Scorpions have taken a liking to this little town of yours, and being as generous of a leader as I am I wouldn’t dare deprive them of what they want. So as is the custom of gangs I’m here to tell you that Riverdale is now ours, and that being the case we will be taking over this lovely establishment to act as our base of operations.”

Confident indeed, Cheryl thought haughtily, but even someone as vain as her could see that they couldn’t win this fight, at least not without serious backup. Some of the other Serpents might have seen or heard of their predicament, and it was possible that reinforcements were in fact coming. She needed to stall for time.

Striking a queenly pose, the radiant redhead puckered her scarlet lips into a pout, saying in a small yet sassy voice, “All that bravado and you haven’t even given us a name to to hate you by, let alone an ultimatum with which we can compare our options. Pretty sloppy Scorpio.” For a moment she was sure he was about to shoot her, but then he lowered his weapon slightly, saying,

“How rude of me, I’m sure. You can call me Capa Barsavi, killer of the weak and petty.” He added to the last few words by kicking Sweet Pea in the stomach as he stirred from the stunned stupor that had been keeping him still. A small grunt escaped the dark serpent, and he curled around his no-doubt bruised middle, glaring daggers at Capa all the while.

“As for your options,” Capa practically purred his next words, chewing them with obvious enjoyment as he delivered their death sentence. “You have three. Bow to me, foreheads scraping the floor, and swear never to bother me or my colleagues ever again, with the idea that you’ll leave this town or disband your little playground group. Or you can ask to join us. If you complete our brutal trials alive, then you’ll be welcomed in as one of our own, and I assure you we can offer you much better than this sad little club of rag-dolls.” 

He paused, and dammit all Cheryl knew he was waiting for dramatic effect. Stall, she reminded herself, keep that ugly mouth yapping until help can arrive. So, with a casual flip of her hair and a single eyelash bat, she asked, “And what’s our third option, Mr. Barsavi?”

A crooked grin twisted his face, and with an obviously lusty look in his foul eyes he drawled, “The third option, little rose, is the situation in which you resist the past two and I shoot you all dead wear you stand.” His gaze grew hard as flint, and there was nothing lazy in his tone as he growled, “After that, we’d hunt down each and every last worm that ever resided here, and blow there little jackets full of holes while their insides turned to swiss cheese.

Toni was rooted to the spot, Fangs couldn’t move as flashbacks pounded through his head, staring pointedly at the gun barrel aiming at him, and Sweet Pea only stared in hatred. That is until he snapped out of it and made a lung for Capa’s legs, his switchblade heading straight for the leader’s ankle joint. A shot like thunder broke the fear-filled silence, and for a second nothing happened, then a dark patch began to spread across Sweet Pea’s left shoulder. 

The loyal serpent gasped, and before anyone could stop him he had fallen onto his back, cradling the injured appendage to his chest as he tried to suppress a scream. Fangs reached out to help him only to have a gun handle crack against his head, sending him to the floor in a stunned heap as Toni’s eyes widened in horror. Cheryl couldn’t move, couldn’t breath as the red began to stain the vinyl, and her gaze stayed fixed on that scarlet bloom as all thoughts of stalling fled her mind.

Capa was nowhere near speechless as he sauntered forward, eyes roaming the room while his cohorts silently challenged the older serpents to make a move. None of them did, although it was obvious that they were seething, filled with anger at the sight of one of their longest standing young members shot down like that. A smirk formed at the corners of the thug’s mouth, and he lazily picked up a pool ball for inspection before turning to the Serpents, adults and teens alike, arrogantly drawling,

“See that? Now that my slimy friends is strength. A little tip from a high schooler to and kindergartener, don’t ever let someone talk back to you. If you want to be respected as a leader, you gotta let them know that if they so much as look at you wrong they could die.” He smirked at the shiver his words elicited from Toni, and then his tone changed, switching from pompous to curious as he asked, 

“Say, speaking of leaders, I heard you little wrigglers are being led by a kid.” A couple Scorpions snorted, and he chuckled slightly, insisting “No really, a little birdy told me that he was no more than a child, running around like the big man on campus and trying to strike fear into dandelions.” The snorts turned into full-blown laughter and Capa joined in, finally pausing for a moment to wheeze, “Can you imagine that? Some little boy thinking he can make a gang strong and lead it to victory?”

After a few more seconds the merriment came to an end, and in a much too cheerful voice Capa questioned, “Say, where is the little rugrat, hiding under the bed?”

All Serpent eyes flicked to the couch, fear creeping up their spines because, in all honesty they’d forgotten about their King in light of the recent panic-causing events. Seeing where they were looking, the Scorpions followed suit, gazes searching for any sign of what the rival gang seemed to be looking for.

The sofa was empty. Their leader was gone, leaving not a hair behind to prove that he’d ever been there at all, let alone fallen asleep for some time. For one fear-drunken moment Toni wondered if maybe they’d just made up Jughead as a way to distract themselves from their crazy lives, but the thought was quickly shattered as Capa aimed his gun at her growling impatiently.

“Where is he?” Toni swallowed, her brain whirring hard as she desperately tried to think of something, anything that could explain that she had no idea where her friend was in a way that wouldn’t make it seem like she was lying. What did she do? She didn’t panic, that wasn’t her thing, but there was a gun, and Sweet Pea was shot, and poor Fangs was probably getting PTSD flashes, and-

“Right here asshole.”

For a split second, Toni could just make out two venomous eyes gleaming in the darkness of the Wyrm’s rafters(the White Wyrm had rafters? It was a bar, not a barn!) and clutched in a shadowy ringed hand she swore she caught the glint of steel, then the crouched shape blurred and the shining orbs vanished. 

A small wet thunk sounded from behind her, and she turned to see a Scorpion fall to her knees with something sticking out of her stomach, a faint gasp escaping her as she fell to the floor. An older Serpent gave a surprised grunt, and all hell broke loose. Scorpions began firing up at the rafters, sending splintered wood raining down on them as a dark shape flitted from beam to beam, a haunting chuckle echoing behind it as it went. 

A horrible gurgling noise startled them, and the whole group turned just in time to see a pair of black sneakers disappear upwards, leaving them staring at the Scorpion clutching the bloody hole gracing the base of his neck. As one they returned to their task, screaming threats as they searched for any sign of the mystery attacker, anger roughening their voices as they shot wildly. 

Fangs gazed dazedly up at the Scorpion stumbling to his knees with a knife wound between his ribs, and vaguely reminisced that a stab like that was always a sure way to puncture a lung. A loud bang erupted and Cheryl swung around to gape at a woman who had apparently decided to get a very large side piercing, tumbling into the bar with a lack of grace that suggested the knife sticking out of her side hadn’t been her idea. 

“What the fuck?!” Capa sounded genuinely shocked and definitely a bit panicky as he stared around, manic eyes searching desperately for an enemy he couldn’t see as his men fell around him. A man fell to a knife hole in his groin, a scream tearing from his throat while his four companions gaped at him in terror. The gang leader returned his attention to the ceiling, squinting in a last ditch attempt to see what exactly it was that they were fighting.

Two men standing side by side suddenly swayed, and a split second later they both crumpled to the vinyl flooring, parallel puncture marks evident on the back of both their necks; like a snake bite. What was happening, who was doing this? Capa took a half step back, twisting around just in time to see Tazzy stagger against the wall with a cry while her shoulder area turned rapidly into a waterfall of red, signalling that her axillary artery had been thoroughly slashed open. No, no, no!

The Scorpions master’s panicked eyes locked with his second in command, even as a shadow fled from behind him and he collapsed to the floor, a bloody wound in his spine indicating that his legs were no longer of any use to him and had decided to quit their job. A glance at the older Serpents left him staring at nothing but wall as it was obvious they’d used the distraction to leave and call backup.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit! Capa stumbled backwards, narrowly avoiding the bleeding bodies of his comrades as his head whipped around wildly, looking for any sign of the shadowy killer that had so quickly decimated his best troops. Show no fear, he told himself. You have to be confident.

“What, too afraid to show yourself? Come on out and fight you worm! Or better yet go call your bratty king and tell him to face me himself! A snivelling child like him would be scarier th-than you!” His voice shook towards the end, matching the fear he felt as a faint snicker echoed around the rafters, and he hoped against hope that his ploy would work.

“Boo,” 

The troopless master gasped in shock at the one word, uttered quietly and with no apparent threat to it. Except that the tone carried icy wrath with it, and it was spoken right beside his ear. Cold steel pressed against his throat, and his Adam's apples bobbed spastically, briefly pushing further into the deadly blade’s embrace. He felt a ringed hand snatch the gun from his shaky hands, and watched in horror as it skidded away across the floor.

The four teens gaped at the sight before them, unwilling to believe what they were seeing even as proof surrounded them in bloody piles. Just behind the feared Scorpion Master stood Jughead, dark curls matted slightly from sleep, grey beanie poking out from it’s safe place in his pocket, and black sneakers hooked onto a rafter as he hung down from the ceiling. Even as they stared-or in Sweet Pea’s case hazily squinted-at the spectacle, the thin teen dropped from his position, landing gracefully and almost silently behind the man he was currently threatening at knife-point. 

Capa squirmed in panic, only causing the steel to cut lightly into his neck, letting blood trickle down gently as his eyes rolled desperately. “Who the hell are you?” His voice was shaky, and compared to his arrogantly lazy tone earlier it was almost laughable to see him reduced to such a state. The blade shifted slightly, and a cold chuckle blew air softly into his ear, making it clear that between his captor and the switchblade, the steel was softer.

“Why Capa, a man like you should know not to ask questions he already knows the answer to.” A soft puff of breathe, and for a second he swore he could feel a serpentine tongue tickling at his ear, warning of the incoming danger.

“I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stall for time, wait for the opportune moment. Almost imperceptibly the Scorpion reached for the second gun hidden under his jacket, praying that his captor took the bait. “So what, in the hell, are you?!”

“You said it yourself,” The icy voice whispered, and just as he shot his gun hand up to shoot, he felt something hot on his neck-

BANG!

For a terrifying moment nothing could be heard other than the labored breaths of Sweet Pea as he lay bleeding on the floor.

Then there was a thunk, and three words reverberated in the quiet as Capa’s knees hit the ground, sounding like gunshots and with a meaning just as striking.

“I’m a Serpent.”

Blood streamed down the Scorpion’s front, and he toppled to the vinyl, throat slashed open brutally while his face was frozen in a look of utter surprise. He’d been beaten, and by nothing more than a child with a knife. The once-great Scorpion’s eyes glazed over, and as his body settled into it’s role as a corpse the Serpent King’s hands slowly unclenched letting the knife drop to the ground, and he released a relieved breath. They’d won.

In an instant, Fangs was kneeling at Sweet Pea’s side, pushing his bloody hands away and pushing down hard to put pressure on the afflicted shoulder. A choked cry escaped the dark serpent, and his face crumpled as he attempted to appear strong, groaning when Fangs shifted his grip. 

Despite the obvious danger of Sweet Pea’s condition, all four sets of eyes turned to Jughead, each one of them searching for the emo friend they’d been talking to not an hour earlier. What stood before them was not the person they knew, but as they watched his cold eyes turned soft, and once steady hands began to shake as the Serpent King once again morphed into their school mate.

Hurrying over to them, Jughead crouched down by Fangs, putting a hand on Toni’s sagging shoulder as she crumpled beside Cheryl, and looking his friends up and down with the sort of mother hen attention that they might have scolded him for at any other time. His breathing was a bit shallower than it should be, and he struggled to steady his voice as he croaked, “I’m so sorry Sweet Pea, I, I should’ve been faster.”

Pain brightened eyes found his, and a weak attempt at a chuckle echoed in the now-silent bar as Sweet Pea reached out his good arm, and clumsily laying a blood-soaked hand on his friend’s knee, murmuring “Don’t worry bout it Jones, I’ve been in some bad scrapes before. Besides, you got the guy who shot me, so I really don’t have much to complain about.”

Translation? It’s okay, I’m gonna be okay. Just breath. You protected us, and we wouldn’t have made it without you.

Swallowing hard, Sweet Pea leaned his head back against Fangs knee, lashes fluttering as he struggled to stay conscious with the blood-loss weighing him down. A beep sounded, and Toni hung up from the call she’d been making. 

“Just called FP,” she announced at there confused looks, “The other Serpents went to get backup, but they also grabbed him since they knew he’d want in on whatever was threatening his son.” A faint smirk painted her face as she continued a little more steadily, “I had to tell them not to grab the makeshift explosives, and hold off on the soldering iron swinging, cause we’d already taken care of the threat. This way we won’t be destroyed by a gang of violently yelling Serpents thinking that we’re in danger.”

Fangs tilted his head to the side, “Fair point.”  
Beside Toni, Cheryl clutched her girlfriend’s hand and flipped her hair nonchalantly, saying “Brilliant thinking as usual TiTi, now we just need to get Sweet Pea here to a hospital.” She was right. The blood puddle was spreading, and although it was obvious he was trying to stay conscious, the dark teen’s eyes had turned glassy as shaky breaths made his chest rise and fall. If they didn’t get him medical attention, and quick, their friend might go to sleep and never wake up.

Shaking his head roughly, Jughead pulled himself away from the horrible images of Sweet Pea’s gravestone, and back to the present. They needed a plan. Twisting around to face Toni, his mouth set into a grim line as he announced, “Okay, here’s the deal. We’ve only got bikes here, so one of us gonna need to ride with him on one, while the other keeps close behind as a safeguard.”

There was a brief argument concerning who should stay and who should go, but in the end it was decided that the boys would go while Toni and Cheryl stayed to explain the situation to the other Serpents when they arrived. Both the girls were capable of holding their own should more Scorpions come knocking, and while Toni could ride as well as any of them, Fangs was more suited to catch Sweet Pea from behind if he fell. Cheryl couldn’t ride and wouldn’t leave Toni, so that left it up to Jughead to take Sweet Pea on his bike.

It took longer than Toni would’ve liked for her and Fangs to half carry, half drag Sweet Pea out to where Jughead had the bikes waiting, but the stifled groans escaping her friend were more the problem than the amount of time it took. By the time they settled him on the bike behind Jughead his face was white as a sheet, and try as he might he couldn’t seem to stop his body from shaking as he looped his arms around Jughead’s middle. Fangs’ motorcycle roared to life behind them, and as Toni and Cheryl waved them away he fought the sudden urge to vomit. 

Hold it in, he told himself, just a little longer and you’ll be able to see straight again. They started to pick up speed and in that moment Sweet Pea knew, Jones would break every traffic law ever written to ensure they got to the hospital in time. Not that he could blame him, since it was in fact his life blood that was only now beginning to clot and cease in it’s evacuation of his body. They swerved violently to the left, and he realized they were in the wrong lane, heading straight for oncoming traffic in order to cut around those in front of them.

Minutes seemed to stretch on for hours, and despite himself he felt his grip slackening in their grip around Jones’ torso, causing him to slip dangerously backwards on the seat. His friend must have felt it too, because his body shifted slightly as he called out over the wind, “Stay with me Sweet Pea, we’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

Sweet Pea stifled a cry of pain as they hit a pot hole, and shuffling forward he tightened his grip on his leader’s middle, pressing his chest flush to the younger teen’s back as he hung on grimly. A wave of nausea overcame him and he let his head drop, burying his forehead into Jones’ shoulder as he waited for the feeling to pass. 

After what seemed like an eternity the bike stopped, and Fangs came rushing over to help Jughead carry his burden into the hospital. Before they could worry about jostling their friend however, a gurney and three nurses appeared and began loading the mostly unconscious teen onto the stretcher, explaining that a Cheryl Blossom had called ahead, telling them in no uncertain terms that if they treated him differently due to his background she would eviscerate them all. 

The next fifteen minutes were a blur as they were shoveled into the hospital, one nurse getting Sweet Pea’s information from Fangs while another two pushed the fevered teen away down a hall towards surgery. Jughead moved to follow them but a kindly doctor pulled him back, saying that he would have to stay in the waiting room until his friend’s condition was stabilized. With a glare that could melt stone Jughead slumped into a chair, feeling more than seeing Fangs do the same beside him. 

Not long after, FP burst through the hospital doors, looking around worriedly before his eyes landed on the a welcome sight. Slumped in chairs side by side, Fangs and Jughead leaned slightly against each other as they dozed peacefully, completely unaware of the panic their disappearance had caused. 

FP had burst into the Wyrm, gaze roving the room as he took in the ten dead or dying bodies that were scattered around the establishment. The absence of his boy and the two others had pulled at something in him, but before he could freak out Toni and Cheryl had been by his side, telling him all he needed to know. The Scorpions had shown up, there were probably at least ten more around town that they’d need to round up, and Sweet Pea had been shot so the boys had taken him to the hospital.

Gazing fondly down at the sleeping duo, the retired Serpent leader could hardly believe that his son had just taken out ten thugs with guns a mere hour before. Slumped there now the boy looked so harmless, with his grey beanie tucked down over his ears and his sneakered feet sprawled out on the floor in front of him...and the glint of steel poking out from his jacket sleeve.

Running a hand down his tired face FP sighed, turning just in time to hear a nurse call “Family of um, Sweet Pea?” Well, it looked like he was gonna have to take over for a bit while his son took a well-deserved nap. Moving towards the nurse he politely smiled saying, “Yeah, I’m his godfather.” 

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Relaxing in the newly cleaned White Wyrm, Cheryl and Toni held each other close as Fangs supported Sweet Pea in his efforts to stay awake for more than five hours. The meds the docs had sent him home with were good(thanks to Cheryl’s blackmailing) and they left him feeling warm and woozy as he slumped on the couch next to his friend. All around them chatter was buzzing like bees, and even as they listened they caught several words of amazement such as,

“...took out all ten of em...” 

“...saw it with my own eyes, I tell you I never knew someone could move that fast...”

“...knives coming out of nowhere and cutting those scumbags down before they had a chance to fire one bullet...”

Smiling softly at each other, the four teens glanced over to the armchair sitting across from them where, in true Jughead fashion, their friend was curled up using his jacket as a blanket. Small breaths blew gently at a stray curl, and for the life of them they couldn’t match this cute noirette with the deadly predator that had been released in this very bar not six days ago. 

A shining object caught their attention, and they watched the switchblade twitch slightly in their dozing leader’s ringed hand, gleaming innocently in the warm evening light as it’s owner snuggled further into the chair. Toni laughed softly, and Cheryl joined her as Fangs chuckled, letting the peace of the night wash over them. They were alive, and for the first time in a month they were all truly glad of it.  
A small snore interrupted them, and they looked down to see that Sweet Pea, still recovering from a bullet wound as he was, had followed their king’s lead and slumped over onto Fangs’ shoulder while his dark head lulled gently against his friends collarbone. Yeah, Jughead may have the weirdest sleeping habits ever, but the knife shining in his limp hand was no joke. It was a promise, that he’d always protect them no matter where or when the danger struck.

The three conscious teens smiled at their snoozing friends, with Jughead’s words from earlier echoing through their minds.

“Instead of mocking a gang for having a child as their leader, you should wonder just how dangerous that kid is to be leading them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! If you have any questions please ask, and remember I appreciate any comments or feedback i can get!


	3. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes even leaders make mistakes, and it takes their friends to show them that.

With the Serpents struggling so much recently, just about everyone had their fair share of days looking like crap, whether that meant dark circles under their eyes or scraped knuckles, but none more so than the Serpent King.

What was a few ugly hours for most people, turned into a couple horrid months for Jughead, and if one Serpent had a scratch, then he ended up with a gash. The emo teen was never one to do anything in halves, and whenever something bad happened to the gang he made sure that he got the brunt of it, no matter if it was a scrape or an insult that he had to bear. What made it worse was that those around him could tell that he wouldn’t have it any other way, because like many of them he had a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide.

When it came to the rest of them, they usually managed to stop each other from getting themselves killed, but no such rules applied to their leader as he always found a way to go and do something reckless anyhow. Yet while this habit was annoying to say the least, it hadn’t become a problem seeing as there were no more Ghoulies for Jughead to toss himself to.

Until now, it seemed.

Over the past few weeks Jughead had been showing up to school injured more and more, and every day he brushed off their questions with a shrug or a joke. Okay, so maybe “injured” was pushing it, but day after day he’d arrive with a black eye, red knuckles, or a light smattering of bruises painting part of his pale skin a deep purple.

The first time Toni had laughed, asking Jughead if he’d taken up Sweet Pea’s habit of picking fights with anything that moved, and the noirette had simply chuckled along with her saying, “Not exactly, but I’ll ask him about it if I ever need a few pointers.” She’d shaken her head in exasperation, dropping the subject to return to her book while Sweet Pea merely shrugged at the jab tossed his way.

A couple days later, and Fangs watched in confusion as Jughead gingerly sat down in the desk beside him, wincing slightly as he adjusted his apparently sore legs. Leaning over to whisper he asked, “Yikes Jones, what’d you do, fall off your bike?” The emo teen seemed oddly hasty to answer and he nodded sheepishly, rubbing at a thigh as he muttered,

“Kinda. I was going down the road pretty fast when this rabbit came out of nowhere! Couldn’t stop fast enough and I skidded out. Bike’s okay though.” After making sure that the bunny had indeed lived, Fangs went back to figuring out the formula for their current science experiment, completely oblivious to how the other boy bit his lip in pain.

By Monday the next week even Sweet Pea was grabbing him by the sleeve and dragging him out of the hall and into the bathroom, glowering as Jughead yelped in surprise. Turning around to face the shocked teen, the tall Serpent reached out and peeled the collar of his jacket back, speaking in his “I sound like I’m about to kill you, but I’m actually just worried.” voice as he asked,

“The hell happened to you neck Jones? It looks like someone tried to strangle you with one hand and nearly succeeded!” The glaring continued as Jughead seemed to freeze, stuttering slightly as he tried to figure out what to say. He was just about to speak when Sweet Pea saved him the trouble, his eyes widening as he shook his head disbelievingly,

“Aw hell no, this is some kinda kinky shit that you and Ponytail have been up to isn’t it?” When the smaller teen only shrugged, he rolled his eyes in disgust, turning to head out the door and calling over his shoulder, “And here I thought maybe- You know what never mind, just try and keep your messed up bedroom habits less violent, otherwise it won’t be just me asking about this.”

If he’d turned back he would have seen Jughead sag, sighing in relief as the door slammed shut again. If he’d looked behind him he might’ve spotted the dark haired boy carefully rearranging the jacket collar around his neck, wincing as it pressed against the hand-shaped bruising. If Sweet Pea had stayed a minute to listen he could have heard the younger teen scolding himself, smacking his head slightly as he told the mirror that he needed to have better excuses ready.

But he didn’t, and the next weeks only continued to get worse for the Serpent’s leader.

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It’d been one month since Jughead’s mysterious injuries had started showing up, and by this point his friends were at their wit’s end, not knowing what to do or how to get him to talk to them about it. A couple days prior he’d been limping slightly down the halls, and when Fangs had slapped him on the back three days before that he’d almost collapsed.

However today took the cake because no, he didn’t show up with a black eye, and no he wasn’t limping or sitting weirdly. His knuckles weren’t bruised, his sneakers weren’t bloody, and he wasn’t even slightly unsteady when he grabbed his locker. Why?

Because he hadn’t shown up at all.

Toni tried calling him five times in first period, Fangs texted him fifteen times in second, and Sweet Pea did twice the amount of both when he got to third, but there was no response. Sure, there was always the “He’s probably just sick and his phone is dead despite the fact that he is at home where he can easily charge it.” excuse. But dammit, whether they’d admit it or not they were concerned.

The three were sitting at the lunch table, all pretending that they weren’t checking their phones for a response every two minutes, when suddenly Toni looked up way too quickly. Seeing that the boys’ attention was now on her, she quirked an eyebrow, and as casually as possible she asked,

“What day is it today?”

Sweet Pea snorted slightly, responding with his usual amount of gruff sarcasm, “Didn’t you feel the wave of misery crashing down this morning Tiny? It’s Monday.” She was usually the one reminding them of the day and if he thought her first question was weird, her second one put him ever so slightly on edge.

“When was the last time either of you talked to Jones?” The response was the same from both of them; Friday. “And the last time either of you saw him?” Friday. She seemed to freeze up as she nodded her agreement robotically, staring down at the table in shock.

The two Serpents opposite from her looked at the purple-haired teen like she was crazy, but before they could question her further their heads snapped to look at each other. They could both see realization dawning in each other’s eyes as it hit them, although Fangs was the first to speak.

“We haven’t had any contact with Jughead since Friday night, so...” He shook his head and stared down at his ringed fingers, fear pulling at his next words. “He could’ve been missing over the entire weekend.”

That’s it! Screw concern, they were marching straight into worried at this point, and right out the doors of school as they headed for their bikes. Pulling on helmets, they compared notes over the roar of their motors, yelling through the wind once they got going towards the Jones residence.

“He didn’t show up at the Wyrm on Saturday, and that’s weird even for him!” Fangs shouted as they drove down Elm Street, quickly followed by Toni hollering,

“And FP’s been working double shifts at the station, so he’s probably barely been home in the past week, let alone just the weekend!” Through all this Sweet Pea remained silent, brows knitted together in the classic “I’m worried and it’s making me mad” glower. Relief pulled at his shoulders when they finally pulled at the Jones’ house, but he couldn’t shake the sliver of dread creeping up his spine.

The three parked their bikes and began walking up to the place, noticing as they did that there were no lights on inside, nor was Jughead’s motorcycle sitting in the driveway. Reaching the front door, Toni stepped forward and knocked gently, waiting with baited breath as the sound faded away. Nothing. She knocked again, harder this time, and then again when there was still no answer. Losing her temper, the purple-haired teen began spamming the doorbell, listening to the repeated ringing as she called,

“Jones? You better not be ignoring us! Open the door, we’re not here to crash on your couch again or anything!” Seeing that she was having no luck, Fangs stepped forwards and added to the ruckus, his friend’s worry infecting him as he yelled,

“Come on Jughead, open up! I promise we won’t raid your fridge again, we just came to make sure you were okay!” Nothing. Not a sound bounced back to greet them, and at this point the grumbles of their friend as he growled at them to leave would’ve been better than this dead silence. Hell, they would’ve relaxed more if they’d heard his socked feet dashing around to the back door in a ploy to escape their sometimes insane ideas of fun. But the only noise was from the street behind them, or it was until Sweet Pea made his presence known with a sigh.

He had know that Jones wouldn’t answer, because somewhere deep down he’d suspected that this was no ordinary skipping of school, or even the flu. It was the same sixth sense that had told him Toni liked Cheryl even before she had realized it herself, and the one that said something terrible had happened even before Betty called FP on the fateful night to ask where Jones was. This bizarre instinct warned him that Tallboy was gonna cause trouble, and it had him aware of Fangs’ reckless ideas almost before he explained them.

Now? Now it told him that Jones wouldn’t answer that door, and worse, that he probably wasn’t even able to. Pushing past his friends, the dark Serpent crouched down and pulled out a couple bits of metal, inserting them into the lock and twiddling back and forth as he searched for the right pins. He would’ve just kicked down the door, but FP would get mad and he didn’t need another problem on his plate right now, so lock-picking it was. A click sounded and, standing up, Sweet Pea turned the knob, taking a step into the house as the other two fell in behind him.

It was empty. Or rather, the kitchen and living room looked like they hadn’t been lived in for a while, and nothing stirred as they looked around, lending the place an abandoned air. Poking her head into the apparently vacant fridge, Toni wondered aloud, “What, do they not eat or something?” earning her a look from Fangs.

“It’s not like we always have mounds of grub around either, and I honestly don’t even know what Veronica means when she says “leftovers”” His voice carried logic with it, but he spoke like someone who was trying very hard not to believe something is true. Specifically, that Jughead was in a whole lot of trouble. Shaking his head, he glanced at the perfectly tidy couch, noting that the pillows were arranged neatly and the TV remote didn’t look like it’d been touched in a while.

Toni whistled loudly at the sight of the sparkling guest room, and was about to mention it to Sweet Pea when she heard boots heading up the stairs. Jumping to follow him she had to sigh, because seriously it was like he already knew what they’d find when they walked into the house. What was he, psychic? Force-sensitive? She shut off her mind as they reached the top, knowing that she was simply trying to distract herself from the dark mood hanging in the air.

FP’s room? Nothing. Spare room? Nada. Bathroom? No sign of Jones, but their was a smear of what looked suspiciously like blood on the sink edge, sending a new wave of urgency to their searching. Shuffling down the hall in single file, the three came to a stop outside Jughead’s door, and both Fangs and Toni held their breaths as Sweet Pea reached for the knob.

This was ridiculous, they didn’t have to search the entire house instead of heading to the most likely spot, and they all knew it too. They could have dashed up the stairs to Jughead’s room, barging in as their worry increased, but instead they’d looked around the whole house, as if hoping that they’d find him doing something normal like watching TV or getting a bite to eat. Sure, he could just be relaxing in his room, but even with headphones on he would’ve felt the vibrations of their steps and come out to confront them about breaking into his house.

The door swung open slowly, and no sooner had Sweet Pea taken a step in than he froze on the spot. They’d found Jones.

Or at least it was something that looked like him, because the chaotic heap of lean limbs that lay sprawled on the ground wasn’t easily recognizable, especially since the grey beanie he usually wore had apparently snagged on the open window frame. The thin teen looked to have crumpled to the floor of his bedroom, barely managing not to land flat on his face and instead compromising and ending up with his body stomach down, but his head on it’s side. One pale hand almost seemed to be reaching out, and they could see that the knuckles were split, bruised and scraped, with blood drying around the rings encircling his fingers.

Something about his sprawled figure tugged at his friend’s heartstrings, and they broke free of their shock, galvanized into action. Fangs was across the room even before Toni reached Jughead, slamming the window shut and shoving the beanie safely into his pocket before turning around to face the situation at hand.

“Jones? Jones!” Toni seemed near panicking as she and Sweet Pea knelt next to the unconscious form, brushing her hair out of her eyes to get a better look as Sweet Pea leaned down.

Carefully Sweet Pea placed one hand on Jughead’s shoulder and the other at his hip, gently rolling him onto his back. The teen’s dark head lulled listlessly to one side before coming to rest angled slightly away from the, and revealing a long cut across one cheek bone along with a fading black eye and bloody lips. Gasping, Toni reached out as if to touch the injuries but seemed to change her mind, laying two fingers against her friend’s bruised wrist, brown eyes closing in concentration as she listened.

Two seconds, then three, and finally she breathed a sigh of relief, “He’s alive,” but immediately went back to worrying as Fangs crouched by Jughead’s feet. The fact that they’d had to check for a pulse at all meant that something was weakening Jones’ breathing, making it hard for them to see if he was alive. What could’ve happened to him to land him unconscious in his own bedroom? On second thought she should probably just be glad he’d passed out here and not in some alley all the away across town.

Seeming to decide that they’d thought in silence long enough, Sweet Pea began calling to Jughead, shaking his arm lightly when the boy didn’t immediately respond.

“Jones? Jones, you better wake up and explain what happened. Come on, now’s no time for a nap!” His shaking increased at the lack of response, and Toni was just about to scold him for jiggling Jughead right out of his skin when their friend’s Serpent jacket fell open, revealing a blood stained tshirt. No, not bloodstained. Blood spattered seemed a better description as they took in the spots dotting his torso, especially over his ribs where the fabric had also sustained small holes.

Leaning over, Toni gripped the hem of the shirt(if it could be called that anymore) and slowly peeled it upwards, wincing as it stuck to the skin around the bloody tears and hoping she wasn’t making it worse. Settling the fabric mid-sternum, she fought the urge to gag, sitting back and taking a deep breath while Sweet Pea growled. Nope, this couldn’t actually get any worse.

“Hoooolllyy shit.” Fangs’ drawn out horror couldn’t have described the sight any better, and covered his mouth with one hand, wishing for just a moment that one of his best friends didn’t seem to have a death wish.

Jughead’s torso was a mass of bruising, ranging from the faded red of something recent, to deep purple, sickly yellow, faint blue and even some ugly green patches. A blotch the approximate shape of Australia covered the teen’s left side, stretching from his hip and up four ribs, and deep scraping ran up the middle of the darkened area. However, the worst of it had to be on his ribs.

A rainbow of ugly colors had been painted over his pale skin, with flowers of faded violet and stark blue blooming in a vast field all the way up to his lean chest muscles, as if someone had decided to use his body as a canvas. Spread among the bruises there were small holes gouged into his flesh, not going deep enough to kill, but often sitting in the delicate skin between ribs as blood oozed sluggishly from them. It was brutally artful, and whoever had done it obviously both knew and relished just how much it would hurt.

Toni was a tough girl, her hard childhood had made sure of that, and because of this she had never once though of herself as being squeamish. She’d fought against guys twice as big as her, and she’d stitched herself up after her uncle had thrown a whiskey bottle at her, not allowing herself to cry until she’d stopped the bleeding. Hell, she’d even patched up Sweet Pea when he’d been grazed by a passing bullet some kid was toting around! But this? Seeing, one of her friends laid out so helplessly with his dark curls falling around his pale face, and enough bruises for a lifetime covering his overly-thin chest, it...it shook her to her core, and the longer she stared the harder it was to breathe.

Toni hadn’t realized she’d started hyper-ventilating until she felt calloused hands on her shoulders, guiding her away to sit on the room’s only chair. Fingers touched her chin and, knowing that he’d never hurt her, she allowed Sweet Pea to tilt her chin gently downwards, and she blinked when she saw that he was kneeling on the floor before her. His dark eyes turned soft as he recognized the panic in her eyes, and he carefully laid a hand on her knee, saying

“Hey, look at me Tiny. It’s gonna be alright, _he’s_ gonna be alright, okay? Jones took on the Ghoulies, and he took on a whole lotta bad before that, even before we knew each other. He’s not gonna let something like this take him out, I won’t let him.”

It wasn’t just that her friend looked like a not-so-inspirational street painting, or that he was unconscious and barely breathing and had been for who knows how long. The thing that truly bothered Toni was that they’d known, or at least seen enough that they should’ve guessed. They should’ve guessed that something was off, should’ve kept asking instead of dropping it, and they should have wondered why their friend was so quiet instead of laughing at him for sitting funny. But they hadn’t and it was looking more and more like he’d suffered alone for an entire month, even though his friends were all around him.

Sweet Pea knew that, and she could already see the self-hatred building in his eyes as he too remembered all the times he’d teased their friend about his odd behaviour, but she nodded even so. This was easier, and easier was faster, and right now they needed fast. Nodding in return, Sweet Pea let go of her, turning and walking back to where she could see Fangs trying to roll Jughead over, supposedly to inspect his back. She just needed a minute, and then she would join them.

Fangs was panicking. Or rather he _would_ be panicking had he not specifically told himself on the way there that no matter what they found, he was not going to freak out. So Fangs wasn’t panicking, but he was growing rapidly more worried as he inspected the holes in Jughead’s chest and his mind did some quick calculations. The blood was mostly clotted which was good, but that also meant these injuries weren’t fresh and could have been open to infection for longer than was safe.

His eyes caught something oddly shiny and he reached a hand down to Jughead’s right side, carefully feeling around until he felt it; hard, probably metal, and definitely something that shouldn’t be in his friend’s back. Retracting his hand he began pulling at the teen’s right shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t damage him more in his attempts to help as he tried to roll him over. Just as he started thinking that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea he felt the resistance vanish almost completely, and looked back to see that Sweet Pea was pulling at Jughead’s hip, a determined look in his eyes as he helped Fangs roll their friend over.

“Wait, wait, just leave him on his side!” A sudden realization had hit Fangs, and he called their movements to a halt halfway through, explaining to his confused friend, “He might, well actually he definitely does have bruised ribs, so setting him on his stomach would do more harm than good.” Nodding in understanding, Sweet Pea held the unconscious teen steady as Fangs slid Jughead’s arms out of his jacket sleeves, setting the leather bundle down on the floor behind him before peeling the shirt up higher.

Ever so gently, Fangs placed his hand on his friend’s back near his waist, following the slightly-less-horrible-but-still-really-bad trail of bruises upwards, probing with a feather light touch until his fingers came into contact with something that shouldn’t be there. Hiking the shirt up higher to reveal Jughead’s shoulder blades, Fangs squinted at a bloody patch of ragged skin, moving a hand to inspect it-

And froze.

Embedded in the thin flesh covering Jughead’s shoulder blade, there was a spider. Obviously not a real spider, but rather a silver, stainless steel little monstrosity the size of a toonie. Like Cheryl’s broach it’s legs were sticking downwards to make it look like it was standing and to give it better purchase on fabric, only it wasn’t sitting on a tshirt. All eight of it’s shining legs were dug about an inch into Jughead’s pale back, and blood had begun to dry around it’s bulbous abdomine.

“Oh, fffucckkk.” It intended to represent his horror, but it more accurately described how much it must’ve hurt when that thing got jammed through his friend’s flesh. Upon hearing his fellow Serpent’s exclamation, Sweet Pea moved up towards where his friend sat, maintaining his steadying grip on Jones’ body as he asked,

“What? What’d you find on his-” Sweet Pea stopped, staring as if transfixed by the gruesome sight.

“Shit.”

“Yup.” Fangs nodded in agreement, feeling around the edges gingerly with the pad of his fingers, only grimacing when all he found was the torn edges of his friends skin.

“You think it’s poisoned, or has some kinda sedative that was stored in the body?” Sweet Pea’s questions took Fangs off guard, but he stopped himself from startling because yes, most people thought his friend was dumb, when in fact he knew a whole lot. Especially considering that he had to learn most of it verbally or through experience due to his extreme dyslexia.

“That’d make sense, especially considering how out of it he is. Injuries like this’d make anyone want to pass out, but Jones has a pretty astounding capacity for pain, and if he hadn’t been drugged he’d probably of woken up a while ago.”

“Think you should...” Sweet Pea asked, waiting for a second until he heard a sigh,

“Yeah, probably should before he wakes up.” With that decided, Fangs dug his fingers nails around the metallic creature, ignoring the squelch of flesh he knew he’d have to clean out from under them later as he gave it an experimental tug. Damn, they’d pushed it in deep. Taking a deep breath he began to wiggle it slightly, gradually putting tension on it until without a sound it popped out. Yup, those legs definitely looked like needles. Sighing, he but it aside before accepting the med-kit from Toni and getting to work.

Once Fangs had patched up Jughead’s right shoulder, they rolled him back over so he could get at the scraping on his left side. Steeling himself, Sweet Pea reached down to carefully prod at the teen’s ribs, hoping against hope that none of them were broken. First one? Nope. Second one? Nothing. Third one? Very definitely cracked. Keeping his touch gentle, Sweet Pea moved his hands ever upwards, pressing gently until suddenly one just gave, sinking slightly downwards and causing him to shrink back, fighting the sudden lump in his throat. However, before he could explain his reaction to a confused looking Toni, Jughead’s eyes snapped open.

One leg spasmed weakly against the floor as the teen drew in a shuddering breath, and his gaze roved wildly around the room in an apparent attempt to orient himself in this bizarre turn of events. One arm pushed at Sweet Pea while he gasped for air until suddenly he seemed to realize where he was, slumping backwards as his grip went limp. Toni quickly shuffled over to his head, finally finding her voice after the shocking awakening of her friend.

“Whoa, easy Jones, relax, you’re safe. You’re in your room at your house, and it’s just us, okay?” His eyelids fluttered and he swallowed hard, his ocean orbs blinking hazily up at her as he asked,

“Who’s we?” All four of them cringed at the sounds of his voice, croaking as it rasped out from his shredded throat, making a noise that suggested he was either a hardcore smoker, or he’d eaten a pack of razor blades for breakfast. Seeing his eyelashes sink closer to his cheeks, Toni responded quickly in in attempt to keep him focused

“Just me, Fangs and Sweet Pea. We uh, we didn’t know what to think when you didn’t show up to school, but we figured something was wrong so we drove over.” A huff of what almost might’ve been laughter escaped the noirette’s cracked lips, but he grimaced almost immediately after, muttering,

“Something wrong, huh? Yeah, you could say that.” He looked like he was about to continue but stopped, scrunching up his eyes and locking his jaw open in a silent scream. A curse was heard, and Toni looked up in time to see Fangs taping a piece of gauze to one of the many holes over Jughead’s ribs, murmuring a soft apology as he put the kit to one side. The rest would just have to wait.

Seeming to decide that enough babying had been done, Sweet Pea leaned forwards to where it was possible for Jughead to see him, and Toni was sure he was about to start growling at the barely conscious teen. Instead, Sweet Pea’s voice came out in a gentle rumble and his eyes held no anger, only mild annoyance when he asked,

“What the hell happened to you Jones? And don’t you dare say it’s nothing, cause whatever silent-suffering thing you’ve been doing the last month, it’s done.” It sounded rough, even with the soft tone, but anyone who knew the tall Serpent could translate it easily. _Talk to us, we’re here for you. Please don’t block us out, you don’t have to face this alone. We’re done ignoring you, we won’t let something like this happen again._

Of course, it wasn’t their fault that he’d been so stupid with whatever it was he was doing, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have stepped in. The whole point of having friends is so that they can tell you when you’re being an idiot, especially when you can’t see it yourself. The three of them knew that, now they just needed to make sure Jughead knew it too, and they wouldn’t stop until they were sure he did.

They waited a beat, and as they watched something started to crack behind Jughead’s eyes, as if while he was out doing dangerous things the boy inside him had imagined those exact words being said a million times, praying for someone to save him. Then in an instant his shoulders sagged, the muscles in his twitching legs relaxed, and his straining neck went limp, sending his previously raised head down to the hard floor.

Or it would have had Toni not scooped it up as it dropped, settling it comfortably in her lap as her friend released a choked sigh, obviously caught between relief and pain. Farther down, Fangs placed a warm hand on one of his legs and began rubbing gently while Sweet Pea tilted his head, obviously waiting for an answer. The next minute he got it, and he almost wished he hadn’t considering how bad he felt later.

“Uhh where do I start?” Jughead’s voice was raspy, but their was a hint of hope in it that broke all their hearts, realizing just how much he must have wanted them to help him for their mere presence to cause this much relief. Toni sighed, running a careful hand through his curls to distract herself from the blood as she answered lightly,

“Well, from the beginning, duh. It was about a month ago when you started showing up with bruises so, why don’t you start with what happened there?” Clearing his throat, Jughead tried to speak, choked on some invisible force as his ribs gave a twinge, and after a few seconds of spluttering finally managed to speak.

“Right, so that day, about a month ago like you said, these creeps showed up outside the Wyrm one night when everyone was inside celebrating...well celebrating whatever it was that was so exciting. I’d just gone out to take a call from Betty, and as soon as it ended they appeared out of nowhere, saying that they weren’t happy about the Serpents’ behaviour.” At the last word he weakly lifted his left arm, doing the universal quotation marks sign before dropping it and continuing a little croakily.

“I asked them why they should care how we act, and they said we were a disgrace to the title ‘gang’ and our ragtag bunch should crawl back into the holes from whence we came. You know, the sort of ‘I’m a scumbag, but you guys suck’ talk that gangs who wanna move in usually start off with. Anyways, I told them how wrong their opinion was and- because I’m actually civilized- gave them plenty of reasons why they were so terribly mistaken, figuring that I might as well start off friendly.”

Toni sighed, knowing exactly where this was heading, and Fangs returned(when did he leave?) with a glass of water, guiding Jughead’s hand to it as she helped him lift his head. He drank greedily, only stopping when the glass was empty, and once again rested his head in Toni’s lap, nodding his thanks to Fang who asked, “Yikes, when’s the last time you had a drink?”

“Uh...a day I guess? Not sure, but that tasted amazing. Anyways, back to story time.” Well, at least he hadn’t lost his sense of humour. On top of that he was telling them everything they wanted to know without any cryptic quotes, AND he was doing so while practically half naked(they’d ended up taking his shirt off so Fangs could get better access to his injuries), AND while his body was a wreck and breathing looked painful. This was why he was the Serpent King, and not some little bitch like Tallboy.

“So they wouldn’t listen and kept yelling out the most lame insults I’ve ever heard, until finally I’d had enough and told them to get lost, which they wittily responded to by pushing me head first into a dumpster and heading off when they saw you guys wrapping it up. I thought that was that, you know? I was kinda hoping they were all bark and no bite, but then they came back the next night with the same lame insults, only this time...” He stopped, swallowing thickly as his breathing hitched, and they couldn’t tell whether it was from pain or emotion. They were about to prompt him when he continued, barrelling onward full throttle as if he couldn’t wait to get it over with, which was probably the case.

“We were a couple buildings away from the Wyrm and one minute they were insulting me and the gang, and the next they were looking at something across the street like it was gold. It, it was you Toni.” The Serpent in question froze, staring down at the equally icy eyes staring up at her, and she did not like the look in them. It was the it’s-okay-don’t-blame-yourself look, the one where they knew you would blame yourself anyways but they had to try anyway.

“They started making jokes about you, how you looked, that kinda thing, and before you know they’re inching towards where you were standing, talking about how-” He stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath and continuing before Toni had a chance to question him on it further. “I knew what they were planning to do, so I told them that their beef was with me since I was the Serpent King. Said that if they really wanted to prove something to the Serpents they’d have to beat me.” Sweet Pea groaned, half in exasperation at his friend’s stupidity, and half in actual pain at the though of what must have happened.

“Yeah, looking back at it now that wasn’t the greatest choice of words. ‘Beat me’ huh?” He coughed slightly, grimacing as his ribs tried to assassinate him with miniature daggers of pain, and his voice wheezed out pathetically as he continued, causing everyone in the room to cringe.

“Well, they did. And after that we settled in for the long game, with them showing up everyday at some point when I was alone, knocking me around for fun, then asking me if I’d admit to everything they said about us being true. Obviously I never did, and they up their fifth grade bullying routine, bells, whistles and all. It got worse over time, but I gotta say, last night took the metaphorical cake.”

Toni looked ready to cry, Fangs only just managed to keep himself from facepalming, and Jughead could practically see the steam coming out of Sweet Pea’s ears as his fists curled into balls, his teeth grinding before the damn finally broke.

“What were you thinking?!” Sweet Pea couldn’t decide if he was angrier at the rival gang or Jones’ stubborn pride, but he was ready to kill someone.

“Why didn’t you say something to us, instead of laughing it off like it was nothing?!” Poor Fangs was such a soft soul when it came down to it, and he felt betrayed, seeing as his friend hadn’t trusted him enough to tell them when something like this was happening.

“We could’ve helped you! The Serpents could’ve taken those guys Jones, there was no need for you to go and do something so stupid!” Toni wasn’t sure if she was mad, sad, hurt, or completely done, but Jones had made a mistake and she was determined to show him that. Slowly, as if he was choosing every word carefully, their friend responded to each of their questions in turn, sounding less defensive and more bone weary as he rasped his answers.

“I was thinking that I wasn’t about to let Toni get raped cause neither of us had our phones on us, and the Wyrm was next to empty!” An angry answer for an angry question, and he quickly moved on, speaking softer as Sweet Pea sagged, staring into nothing as he realized what could’ve happened to Toni had Jughead not stepped in.

“If I’d said something to you you would’ve just acted like you are now, I couldn’t handle you freaking out when there was nothing you could do. Besides, laughing is easier than crying, right?” Oof, that definitely sent the mood down another notch, and Fangs looking more conflicted then ever.

“Toni, when this all started the Serpents were still recovering the tornado, and the way they were then they couldn’t have held their own against these guys, especially considering that half of them were shipped out to a hospital two towns away. They couldn’t have helped.” For a moment, silence reined, as three sets of eyes stared blankly while the minds behind them whirled frantically, searching for a better answer.

“No.” Jughead tilted his head back to look at Toni as she crossed her arms, glaring down at him angrily enough to melt stone, and once she saw she had his attention she continued, voice raising as she went. “No! Did you save me from something that I admit I might not have been able to defend myself from? Yes, and I’m grateful. But could you have told us? Yes, because we could have done something about it, and you know it too! Were the Serpents weak? Sure, but they’ve been back to full strength for weeks now and being our leader you know that better than anyone!”

Shaking a finger in his face she barged on, fury sparking in her dark eyes as Fangs and Sweet Pea looked on, smiles pulling at their lips as they watched their firecracker of a classmate tell the thin teen in her lap exactly what he needed to know. She always had a way of doing that. Making you feel like a child and scolding you soundly, but inspiring you purely with the passion behind her words.

“After the first time you should have told us, we would have helped you, and together we could have come up with one of your ingenious plans to take them out with just the four of us if we had too! But this wasn’t just about us being overwhelmed, this was about you wanting to protect us from things you know we can handle! This isn’t all because us not being able to help you, because you know us and you know that we will find a way! And no, Jughead Jones, this is not how you should do your duty, because your duty is to help the Serpents, and despite what you seem to think, that does mean getting beaten to a pulp!”

Breathing hard, and glowering so deeply they were sure her face would crack, Toni’s voice finally quieted, easing down to an honest murmur. She allowed her face to smooth and, gazing straight into Jughead’s eyes(And straight into his soul it seemed) she gave her final statement.

“This is about you feeling bad for messing up your dad’s op a while back, and cutting a chunk off his paycheck for damage repairs. This is because you feel like an inadequate leader half the time, and Zinko gave you a tongue lashing after you made a mistake a month ago, and yeah, I heard what he said. Jones, you let that gang hurt you because you were lonely, and being a punching bag to ‘protect’ the Serpents seemed like the only thing you were good for.”

Jughead closed his eyes, and his brows came together as traitor tears slid out the corners and down his bloodied cheek, leaving clean trails on his dust-covered skin as they went. A shuddering breath, and then he was sobbing, horrible choking gasps forcing their way out through his throat as he shook, feeling as if the whole world was falling apart beneath him and taking him with it. It was true, all of it, and he didn’t know what to do or how to _fucking breathe_ because he could feel his abused body shattering into pieces.

But then Fangs was gripping his legs, holding them down as if he could stop Jughead from falling off the face of the earth simply by keeping him pinned while he shook weakly. He felt Toni’s perfect nails sliding through his hair, gently tugging at the tangles like she had the ability to untwist his heart just as easily, and his shaking lessened slightly. And finally Sweet Pea was clasping his bruised hand in his own tightly, gripping Jughead’s shoulder firmly but carefully, and he couldn’t bring himself to care that it hurt.

It didn’t matter that Fangs was pressing down on the bruises and sore muscles in his legs, and it didn’t matter that Toni’s nail brushed against his black eye making it twinge. It just wasn’t important that Sweet Pea’s grip on his hand felt like it might break the bones in the next few seconds, and his fingers were brushing the ugly wound in his shoulder. He couldn’t care less because his friends were the only thing keeping him on this earth, holding him together as his body rejected him and tried to shatter.

Slowly, Jughead drew in a shuddering breath, only coughing slightly as it tried to catch in his throat on the way up, and he let it out bit by bit. Swallowing thickly, he let his gaze wander to rest on each of his friends, and his voice came out in an exhausted rasp as he murmured,

“I’m sorry guys. You’re, you’re right Toni, about everything, I...I just...sometimes I don’t know what to do and I end up, kinda royally screwing things up. I don’t, don’t know what I was thinking for this to seem like a good idea.” These last words were followed by a weak chuckle as he gestured to himself sheepishly, and his friends soon joined in on his embarrassed laughter, letting their grips on him relax slightly.

“You weren’t thinking Jones, otherwise you would’ve realized just how mad I’d be when I found out.” Bluntly put as ever Sweet Pea’s statement was fondly spoken, and the fact that he used ‘I’ instead of ‘we’ proved how worried he’d been.

“Pretty sure we’ve all royally screwed things up at one point or another,” Fangs practically giggled and then, looking around he realized, “Actually we’re sitting in a cultist triangle around your corpse of a body with half a med-kit, laying here chatting like grandmas when we should have called an ambulance. So...” They all fell back into a fit of merriment, but were stopped abruptly when Jughead began coughing horribly, gasping for breath as his ribs creaked dangerously.

“Besides, being stupid is in the job description, and that’s what we’re here for.” Toni looked pointedly at the teen trying not to pass out in her lap, giving him one last warning glare as she said, “So next time you don’t know what to do, talk to us! Or I guess Red if your wanna. Or Betty. Or FP, although I get why you don’t wanna bug him right now.”

Jughead had just begun to nod tiredly in acceptance and agreement to her terms when her head shot up, and she practically stood up as she scrambled to find her phone. “FP! He has absolutely no clue that you’ve been unconscious on your bedroom floor since Sunday night does he?” A hand caught hers right before she dialed the correct number, and she looked down in confusion.

“Sunday night? Wait, you mean today is Monday?” Fangs sat back heavily, and Toni was still trying to pick her jaw up off the floor when Sweet Pea answered their friend’s question uneasily.

“Yeah, it’s Monday Jones. We left school around lunchtime to see if you were alright. What time do you remember it being when you got here?” A pause, an awkward cough, and one quiet “Oh shiiittt.” later, and he finally responded.

“Saturday morning, like 6:00 am, give or take?” Before his tired brain could even process what was happening, Toni had left her place under his head and dashed out to the hall to call FP, and he felt a painful sting in his ribs as Fangs went back to patching him up with a will. Meanwhile, Sweet Pea looked like he either about to pass out or blow his head off.

“You’ve been lying here for over twenty-four hours Jones, and you didn’t think that would be a good thing to mention?! You’re lucky the circulation didn’t get cut off in the arm you were laying on!” At this point Fangs was grumbling something about possible infections as he poured liberal amounts of disinfectant all over Jughead’s torso, pointedly ignoring the indignant curses coming from his friend. And his other friend who was helping him as best he could in his efforts. And his OTHER friend who was yelling in the hallway loud enough to wake the dead. Yep, there were more swears than words in a dictionary bouncing around the house right now.

Eventually though, Fangs and Sweet Pea had patched Jughead up to the best of their ability, and the last of the holes(not bullet holes luckily, but some guy had been wearing steel toed boots with spikes) was being covered as Toni helped him sit up right. He was dressed in unstained clothing, he wouldn’t die in the next few minutes, and it looked like his ribs weren’t broken after all, so he might be able to avoid more than one minor visit to the hospital. Things were looking up.

Then the front door slammed and FP’s voice echoed through the house, letting them all know that they were either about to be murdered or mother-henned into oblivion.

“Well shit.” Sweet Pea’s statement was met with a chorus of agreements and, being careful not to jar his injuries, the two boys helped Jughead down the stairs while Toni rushed down to start making supper and hopefully, hopefully avoid a lecture. Luckily for them, upon meeting them at the bottom of the stairs and seeing his son’s condition the retired Serpent was in no mood to kill anyone, and instead looked close to tears. Stepping forwards, FP gently extracted his son from the arms of his two friends, nodding for them to go help Toni make supper with the groceries he’d brought home.

“Jughead?” The words were uttered quietly, as if he was afraid the mess of a teen in front of him might fall apart if he spoke any louder than a murmur. Two tired eyes flicked up to look at him, and for a moment they simply looked at each other, silently communicating the answers that they were both seeking. His son had messed up big time it seemed, and if his friends hadn’t found him FP would have come home to a much less pleasant sight than the one in front of him right now.

Even as his thoughts strayed to how bad Jughead looked, said teen’s knees suddenly buckled, and it was only FP’s years of working with the Serpents that allowed him to catch him before he hit the floor. Winding his arms around his son’s bony back, he felt the boy’s head fall limply against his shoulder as if fully accepting the impromptu hug, and he swallowed hard when he felt calloused hands clutch as his jacket.

How many times had his son come home to find that he wasn’t there? How many days had Jughead been suffering silently in his room while he filed reports? Judging by how tightly his boy was holding onto him, he probably didn’t want to know the answer.

As if reading his thoughts, Jughead leaned back from their embrace and, looking him dead in the eyes, he softly muttered,

“It’s okay dad, it wasn’t your fault.” FP looked like he was about to protest, but he kept going, allowing the man no room for speech. “It isn’t on you, alright? Just like it isn’t on them that I end up getting myself hurt practically every Thursday. I chose this, but...I messed up, and it screwed me over big time. I thought...” The cause of the pause in his announcement was obvious as he swayed slightly, renewing his grip on FP’s jacket.

Shaking his head in exasperation, FP slowly guided his son over to the couch and sat him down, gratefully accepting the pain meds and glass of water that Fangs produced. Only once both the pills and liquid were gone did he allow his son to continue, and continue he did, telling him exactly what he wanted to know.

“I thought...I guess I wasn’t really thinking, and I should have talked to someone about it. To you, really, since you led the Serpents before me, but...” That was all he needed to say. They would talk more later, but right now supper was ready and he didn’t even look like he’d make it through the meal with his drooping eyes.

Fangs got one of Jughead’s favorite movies going, and Sweet Pea brought in the plates of food while Toni cleaned up in the kitchen. As predicted, half way through the film Jughead’s head dropped, and his friends began settling him on the couch with muffled laughter and soft smiles. Despite his worry, FP couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Toni placing the grey beanie on a side table with a happy note while Fangs argued with Sweet Pea about what whether they should leave him sitting or not to help with his bruised ribs. Yeah, for all his big brains his boy was stupid as hell sometimes, and considering how many times he almost died he’d be the death of him someday.

Still, he knew that Jughead would sort this out, just like he did every other thing that tried to beat him down, and he wouldn’t be doing it alone. Smiling at the three teens settling themselves around his son, he was certain that as long as his son had friends like these he’d be okay, no matter what crazy stunt he tried to pull next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the rushed ending, I just felt like I'd been droning on a while and i wanted to rap it up. Thank you all so much for your support, I enjoy reading every comment I receive! This was a pretty long chapter I know, but I've been experimenting a bit with lengths. As always, if you have any questions, likes, dislikes or feedback, please comment below!


	4. Mischief Managed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I figured things were getting a little too angsty, so it was time to lighten the mood a little bit! I had some trouble writing this one, so I hope you like it okay.
> 
> Ever notice that Jughead has a knack for finding trouble?

During the first few months of having a new leader, the Serpents quickly learned that their young King was prone to injury or accidents, and they finally understood why FP had always shown up looking completely exhausted. Seriously, it was like the kid had a cursor over his head that screamed “Beat me!” at passers by, and he had a nose for trouble that would put blood-hounds to shame. Whether the guy looked for it or not, danger always managed to find him, so much so that the Serpent were forced make an executive decision on the matter. Like with all important choices, the Serpents were determined to work though this in a fair and well thought out manner, taking everyone’s opinions into account.

So they waited until Jughead wasn’t at the White Wyrm, took a group vote on what they should do, and told them selves this was for his own good and he probably wouldn’t kill them all when he found out. It was decided then that their leader should always have at least one person with him while he was away from home, and they’d all take turns running what they called “Mischief Management.” Jughead would have an escort to and from school, and on the way back home in the evening, since those were the times he usually got into trouble, or trouble came charging for him. With that choice made, all there was to do was inform the ~~kid~~ King.

Suffice to say, he did not take it well, and one entire night was spent trying to explain to him why this was a good idea and how much worse it would be if he killed them all. Of course he’d never actually hurt any of them, nor could he if they all ganged up on him, but damn if it didn’t look like he might go homicidal at one point during the discussion. The guy was especially offended when Sweet Pea joined in on the “enemy” side, vehemently arguing that considering all the rival gangs coming through town, he should have someone to help out if things got sticky. In the end, the teen seemed to realize he didn’t have a choice in the matter, and with a sullen nod of acceptance he retired for the night, even apologizing for his actions the next day when he arrived at the Wyrm.

It wasn’t that bad really, especially once he convinced the adults that Fangs could be his school time escort since he passed by on his way there anyway, and anything he did during lunch hour could be supervised by Toni and Sweet Pea. Each night a different Serpent would take notice of his departure and join him outside, walking with him until he reached his house, and bidding him a goodnight before returning to their respective home. Honestly it was kind of nice not to feel so alone, and it gave him a chance to get to better know and understand his gang. But nothing lasts forever.

Eventually Jughead grew tired of the continual company, and started to yearn for the one constant in his life, something that he’d come to think of as his core; solitude. He’d always felt lonely in crowds, and even among friends he sometimes felt left out, so he’d taken to keeping to himself for the most part. Now that he was with the Serpents though, he was never allowed to just be by himself, whether he was busy at school, work, or the Wyrm, there was always someone around. After months of constant socialization he needed some time alone, no matter what anyone else seemed to believe was best for him. Thus began Jughead Jones’ long and frustrating campaign against his nightly escort, and the unanimous facepalming of every Serpent in existence.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was Tuesday night and the warm early summer air mixed wonderfully with the golden rays of the sun as it set in the distance, creating a cheerful atmosphere when combined with the chirping of a flock of birds. However, such beauty was completely lost on the two dark figures making their way through the town of Riverdale. A dark haired boy seemed to be taking the lead, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off both a headache and the annoyance he felt towards the tall man trotting along behind him. It had been a month since the new escort law was decreed- and his freedom destroyed in the process- and at this point he was ready to dive into the sewers in order to escape his “nightly stalker" For Rip’s part, he was so on edge that even the smallest sound startled him, and every muscle in his body was starting to tense as he focused on the brooding teen in front of him, hoping against hope that maybe tonight this would be easy.

Ah, who was he kidding? Easy wasn’t in the kid’s vocabulary, and apparently fate had joined him in that affliction because danger hounded him day and night. No matter how peaceful it seemed now there was probably a raging bull on it’s way to kill them, or maybe an army of mutant sharks were getting ready to storm the town. Life had been hard on FP’s boy like it’d been on most of them, and the kid had adapted well, becoming just as tough as the things that were thrown his way. He never expected things to be easy, which was probably why he had a habit of rarely making them simple for those around him.

Two weeks. That was all the time he’d allowed them to have in their illusion of his compliancy before their young leader had inevitably bucked, pushing against what he considered to be a cage, a lead on which they “led” him. The Serpents called it protection, because that was what it _was_ dammit!

_Two weeks._

Sunday on the third week Vix had called the Wyrm, panic lacing her words as she explained that Jughead Jones had vanished into thin air. She swore she’d only looked away for a second, and when she turned back he’d been gone. Vix had then proceeded to search the entire area where she’d last seen him, coming up empty before calling them, and they’d promptly called FP. Imagine their relief when he’d sounded confused, saying that his son was in fact at home, scribbling idly away at his math homework in the living room. After hearing a sigh of relief so huge it caused a burst of static, FP had asked what in the world had gotten them so riled up? Up until then they hadn’t informed him of the law, and at that point they’d been forced to, cringing slightly only to have him agree solemnly that it was a smart idea.

Jughead had been given a very long lecture that night about “worrying the Serpents” as his father told him that it was “All for his own good,” and he “shouldn’t run off and scare them like that, cause _they_ actually cared about his safety.” It wasn’t loud per say, but it was said seriously enough that the younger Jones had listened. For one day. Then it was on again, and heaven help the poor Serpent tasked with escorting Jughead for the night, because it only got worse from there.

A loud noise caused Rip’s head to perk up sharply, and he cursed himself for wandering off into his thoughts as he scanned the area. No enemies, no suspicious people, nothing even slightly out of the ordinary in the small town, it appeared just like most tourists seemed to think it was like all the time. A thought occurred to him, and his gaze shot back to the path ahead of him where-

The kid was still there, looking moody as ever while he shuffled along in front, glaring sullenly at the ground in his usual I’m-not-angry-I’m-thinking look. Rip sighed in relief, although he was pretty sure the guy _was_ actually mad.

Jughead was in fact mad, and not because of the Science exam he had tomorrow, or the financial issues of the Serpents, or the jerk who had spat in his face today while he worked at Pop’s. No, he wasn’t even angry about the fight he’d had with Betty after school, although it had burned like acid in his gut before he’d forced himself to ignore it for now; he couldn’t afford to break down in public, so he’d have to wait until he got home to sort it out and find a solution.

Right now he was fundamentally pissed of at the law, the stupid law that now said he needed an escort wherever he went, whenever he went anywhere. Seriously, he wasn’t some toddler who needed to be babysat, and thirty minutes alone wouldn’t kill him. In fact, it was the loss of those thirty minutes that was driving him insane, and if he didn’t get away from Rip soon he’d lose his small chance at temporary freedom. But how to do it?

Over the past couple of weeks, well, actually now that he thought about it, it had been more like a month and a week since the law had been instated, and he’d only spent two weeks going along with it. Okay, so for the last _three_ weeks he’d been learning the best ways to ditch his escort, and he’d come up with a few fair ideas at that.

First, he’d ducked into a store and cut out the back door; Vix had totally panicked, but he’d had a lovely walk home down the scenic route. Until the Wyrm called and his dad sat him down for a long, long lecture. The second time he’d gone around a corner and hidden behind a dumpster; Ratchet thought he’d run ahead and dashed off to try and catch up, poor guy. He tried making a run for it once, aaannnddd got caught by Rosette; man had that hurt. So he went back to strategy and disappeared up a fire escape while Tanner’s back was turned, and the night after that he lost Crew by hiding under some thick shrubbery, finishing off the week with a quick disguise. Well, he’d pocketed his beanie, pulled on one of Archie’s ball caps, and he’d shed his Serpent jacket in favor of swinging it over his shoulder with the inside showing, which to his amazement had worked.

Of course some nights he was just too tired to strategize, and he resorted to bribing Sindy with a new bottle of black nail polish, or convincing Junko that he wouldn’t run off then making a break for it. So far he had a score of fifteen successful escapes, and six unsuccessful ones, and the Serpents had taken to sending out a memo every two days of the ploys he’d tried, meaning he had to continue to make up new ones. Rip was not gonna be an easy one to shake. He was tough, skilled, fast, strong, and all in all a perfect example of how badass his gang was. Oh, and he was vibrating like a maraca right now, which obviously presented a problem considering that stealth was what he usually relied on to get away. It looked like if he so much as breathed wrong the high strung man would whip out a switchblade, grab him like the president in all those movies, and make for the nearest nuclear shelter.

Glancing back at the tense Serpent, Jughead shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as he theorized, contemplating every idea that he could pull off, along with twelve more he probably couldn’t. Wait! There, just a couple sidewalk slices away he caught sight of Mrs. Walters, closing up the store for the night as she hummed happily to Little Brown Jug. Perfect.

Keeping his pace normal, Jughead raised a hand to wave cheerily at the old woman, smiling falsely when she recognized him and waved back, calling “Hey Mrs. Walters, how’re the flowers doing tonight?”

“Oh, little mister Jones, how nice to see you, it’s been some time since you’ve stopped by to chat! Oh, my lovelies are doing quite well, I think the warm air is really giving them some extra spring.”

The teen had to resist the urge to wince at her first sentence, because yeah, it had been a while since he’d dropped in to chat. More like staggered in really, since the only reason he’d gone into the flower shop was to get out of the rain for a bit. Or maybe it had been because at the time Mrs. Walters seemed to be the one person on that god-forsaken planet that might actually give a damn about whether he was okay or not. He’d been homeless then, his dad had been drunk as ever, and now that he thought about it, that had been when he’d recently discovered that his friend had ditched him and their summer road trip. Not only that but it was his _best friend_ Archie who had “forgotten” about the thing he himself had looked forward to all year, the only thing that had kept him going. And why had he done that? Because he’d been off kicking it with a woman twice his age who it turned out was a regular cougar in general, and not someone he even remotely pitied.

_Focus!_

Right, he was over that and now wasn’t the time to remember all those evenings he’d spent seeking comfort in an old lady’s gossip, her sweet tea, and her lovely flowers, even though- No!

Shaking himself mentally, Jughead found that he’d apparently struck up a conversation with Mrs. Walters, and Rip had stiffly come to stand at his side as they talked, obviously uncomfortable with their deviation from their usual course. Alright, now it was time for the power move. Shifting so that he was facing more away from Rip, he moved one foot casually as if to stretch out the leg, when in fact he was getting ready to run, or at least sneak off. Waiting until his mouth stopped moving for a moment(since when did he install an autopilot for keeping up with conversations?) he cheerfully announced,

“Actually, I was just thinking that I should help Rip here pick out a bouquet for his mom, cause it’s her birthday tomorrow! He said he wanted to get her something special and I couldn’t help but think about your beautiful blooms.” Despite what Reggie might say about him, he was just as charismatic as anyone on the football team, and technically he wasn’t even lying. The lovely lady immediately turned to the gruff Serpent, eyes shining with joy as she asked,

“Oh really now? What a sweet young man you are, you know it’s become to terribly rare for boy’s to get their mothers flowers, and it’s such a shame! Now what did you have in mind? It’s not that late, so I can absolutely fix you up a bunch and I’ll have them waiting for you tomorrow! Now...”

If there truly was a god, Jughead thought, he’d sent one of his angels down to live among them in the form of Mrs. Walters, and wow was he grateful for it. Rip was completely distracted by the woman, and even as he watched the teen could see some of the stress seeping out of the Serpents shoulders while he answered her questions abashedly. The lady was an expert, and she’d find the perfect flowers for Rip’s mom if it took an hour; which it definitely would.

Keeping his breathing steady, Jughead began to twiddle his thumbs and shuffle his feet in mock impatience, waiting until the man’s focus was solely on Mrs. Walters, then ever so casually shifting backwards. The fidgeting had likely allowed Rip to become accustomed to his constant movement, and that meant that he shouldn’t even notice he was gone until too late, especially since he was riveted by the shop keeper’s questions.

One step, then another, and another after that, and finally he was in the mouth of an alley. A burst of adrenaline hit him and he turned and fled, dashing through the narrow space before coming out on the other side and heading for the scenic root, only looking back once to see...absolutely nothing coming after him. Yes! He was free at last to have some peace and quiet, and he didn’t really have to be home for an hour! The thought brought forth a surge of happiness, and before he could stop himself he was chuckling, no, laughing straight out for the whole world to hear.

Had any civilians been out on that particular road that night, they would have stared dumbfounded as a thin boy robed in a Southside Serpents jacket sprinted down the center of the street at break-neck speeds, his blue eyes ablaze with joy as youthful laughter echoed in the air behind him.

Jughead let his head drop as his merriment finally came to an end, and he allowed himself to slow to a more leisurely pace as he turned a corner in his route. Normally he shunned the excitable-puppy-who-will-laugh-at-anything shtick, leaving the whole thing to Archie, but today was different. He hadn’t managed to ditch his escort for two agonizing nights before this, and life had been hectic as ever. Even more so probably, seeing as he had to- No!

Shaking his head to clear it Jughead switched to the other side of the road, humming quietly to himself and actually waving to the few passersby that were locking up for the night. He’d gone this root more times than he could remember, and in about twenty minutes he’d be pretty much the only living thing still out in this part of town. Speeding up, Jughead ran a full fifteen feet before using his momentum to jump up and high five a shop sign, bending his knees as his sneakered feet landed lightly on the warm sidewalk below. Sure, on a weekend there’d be plenty of folks running around, but today was Tuesday and this was the business district, so he could do basically whatever he wanted.

With that thought in mind he took off again, picking up speed until he came upon a street lamp then shooting out an arm to latch on, and swinging himself around it wildly. Again, normally this wasn’t his thing at all, but he couldn’t keep the smirk off his lips as he jumped from the pole to a garbage can, then down to the ground, setting off at a slower pace. He hadn’t been able to get away for two nights now, and the loneliness that would usually assault him when he was alone at night kept it’s distance, allowing a feeling of freedom to come rushing in.

Coming to the top of a hill Jughead stared off into the horizon, gazing in wonder as the sun’s golden rays mixed with warm pinks and oranges, shining down on the town and turning the treetops black with shadow. His ocean eyes sparkled with awe and he once again started running, chasing the fading light as fresh evening breeze brushed through his dark curls gently, tugging teasingly at his beanie. Truth be told, if it weren’t for the constant company he’d been forced to keep for the last few months, he’d never appreciate these nightly walks as much as he did now, because before he’d always been alone so this would be nothing special.

Company...He gradually slowed his pace to a trot as his mind began to wander, drifting to ponder over the Serpents’ budget, how much longer they could keep everyone eating well, and what he was supposed to do about it. Was Archie doing okay these days? He’d been busy during lunch recently and other than in class they didn’t see each other much, and now that he was on the topic of the North side...he needed to talk to Betty about what she’d said during their fight...

A soft sigh escaped him, and Jughead scrubbed tiredly at his eyes in an attempt to bring everything back into focus, literally and figuratively, seeing as he was totally exhausted. Again. Any and all adrenaline had drained from his body in the past- he looked down at his watch -twenty minutes? How had he been wandering around for that long already?!

Speaking of wandering, he’d strayed even farther than usual from his longer than normal route, and he looked up to find himself trotting down the middle of the highway outside town. Oops. Shifting to the side of the road, he began purposefully heading for the exit that lead back to Riverdale, realizing just how lucky he was not to have been run over yet. He seriously needed to get his head in the game! A car whizzed by startling him, then another, and another as the world started spinning again, because apparently it had stopped for a bit to suite him. He picked up his pace and on instinct cut off into a corn field, dashing through the rows as tall stocks battered at his face and limbs, while ears of corn thwacked him in the head. Ouch.

Finally he slowed down, shaking himself for getting startled so easily. It wasn’t like the cars had been after him specifically, and none of them would go out of their way to run over a dark kid walking along the side of the highway, especially since he hadn’t done anything wrong to warrant such violence. Yeesh, Jughead rubbed at the back of his neck while he made his way to the edge of the field, grumbling under his breath in self irritation. He was acting more and more like his escorts every day, so maybe their paranoia was brushing off on him- Yeah no, he was just paranoid these days. No one was gonna come after him here, at this hour, for no particular reason, but he still felt the sudden need to get home.

A barbed-wire fence appeared in front of him and he sped up, sneakered feet pounding against the dirt as he bent his knees in preparation before launching himself over the fence, narrowly avoiding catching his jacket on the sharp metal. Landing hard on the other side he looked around, realizing that he had in fact taken a short cut in his haste to escape the highway, and was now just at the end of the exit and the beginning of the town road. Well, now that he was back in relative safety maybe he should just continue to walk around a bit before he headed back to his house, especially since he was feeling better now. Besides, it wasn’t like anything was gonna happe-

The ground shook beneath Jughead, and he turned to stare straight into a pair of blinding headlights. Squinting in irritation he thought that they should really turn those down, cause seriously those were bright and- and they were heading right for him. He half turned to run, but too late, because the next thing he knew he was flying through the air. Until he wasn’t flying anymore.

Jughead hit the ground hard, and he felt his back land first before his neck snapped after it, sailing downwards in a brutal whiplash as it sent his head slamming into the dirt. The world vanished from in front of him, and bright explosions of pain burst behind his eyes while his stomach churned. In the very farthest reaches of his mind he was sure had heard a crack when he’d landed, but for the life of him he couldn’t feel a single bone in his body. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t move, and worst of all, he could not breathe. Jughead’s chest constricted screaming at him for air, but he found he could give it none, which was mostly due to the fact that he had quite suddenly forgotten how to breathe. His lungs didn’t like that at all and, in a- very childish he thought- form of revenge, they decided to light themselves on fire.

A piercing ringing filled Jughead’s ears as he weakly struggled to lift his shrieking head, his dark lashes fluttering spasmodically in an attempt to help him regain his lost sight. He couldn’t move even a finger to save his life, and while his brain was sending signal after signal to his legs to pull him upright, they didn’t so much as twitch. A choked cough escaped him and finally, finally he sucked in one stuttering breath, then another, and another until at last his vision returned. His hearing seemed to take the hint and it scampered back quickly after, arriving just in time for him to make out the sounds of a car driving off, and the raucous laughter of men echoed in the exhaust it left in it’s wake.

“Wh-what?” Jughead winced at the horrible scraping noise his voice made on it’s way up, and an ugly cough rattled his lean frame, turning into a painful string of them before vanishing, leaving him gasping for air once again. _What just happened? Who the hell were those guys?_ He felt a finger twitch, and he struggled to raise the hand it was attached to, only just managing to lift it in front of his face. Ouch. The knuckles were bruised and dirty, and as he turned it over he was greeted with a palm scraped to oblivion, dotted with several rocks that had decided to burrow in for warmth.

All in all he should probably be grateful that his body was still in too much shock to feel any pain considering how much that hand would hurt otherwise, but not feeling anything was freaky as hell, and despite himself he could sense panic rising. He couldn’t feel his legs. He could _not_ feel his legs! _Calm down!_ At the moment he didn’t have feeling in much of anything besides the splitting headache that was assaulting his skull right now, so there was no reason to think he’d been paralyzed. Then his breath hitched, and all hell broke loose.

Jughead choked desperately as he sought air, coming up with nothing but coughs as his chest tightened and his stomach twisted, both screaming at him that there was something very wrong. He felt something shift and he froze, stifling his gasps momentarily while he waited, praying that that wasn’t what he thought it was. He took a stuttering breath in, and a stuttering breath out. Nothing. He took a deep breath in, and-

_Pain!_

A strangled cry escaped him while his muscles clenched in agony, and all the while he could feel a scream building inside his chest. Only he couldn’t scream. He could barely even breathe, because his ribs were cracked, maybe fully broken, and it seemed as though a cow were casually standing on top of him, with absolutely no clue that he was killing someone. The wave of pain passed, and Jughead forced himself to breath shallowly, keeping his movements slow as he reached down to wrap and arm around his ribs, holding them tenderly as they pulsed fire to the beat of his heart.

Gradually the feeling was returning to his body, and he gritted his teeth as more bruises and fractures made themselves known, each one whimpering for attention as his chest quivered with the effort of taking in oxygen. He couldn’t focus on that right now. His right hand inched down to pull his phone out of his pocket, and he carefully brought it up to his face, squinting in the dying light as he flipped it to face him. A leaden weight dropped to settle in his gut as he stared, horrified at the cracked and most definitely dead screen in front of him, before tossing it to the side angrily. _Stupid phone, of fricking course the car would hit him in the middle of his body, right where everything valuable was! Now how was he supposed to call the-_

_The Serpents._ The people who had literally made a law just so they’d have an excuse to protect him, and had set aside valuable time to ensure that he was always safe. _His_ gang, who had stuck with it even when he’d made it close to impossible to keep track of him, and had continued to escort him every night knowing that he’d try to make a run for it. The Serpents who had been especially paranoid recently because-

_Oh._ Rip hadn’t just been concerned that he’d make a break for it, no he’d been _worried_ because there’d been tell of another gang in town that week, and if there was one thing for certain on this earth besides the sun, the moon, and the stars...it was certain that any gang who came to town would hear about, then immediately target the Serpent’s young new King. They were Spanish if he remembered right, which would explain the glimpse of a licence plate he’d caught, reading “Niño malo”

Something strange, other than the intense pain he felt all throughout his body, caught his attention, and Jughead lifted his head to gaze down at where his brain said the problem was; his legs. His legs that weren’t moving. His lean, jean covered legs that didn’t hurt one bit. Why didn’t they hurt? They got hit with everything else and tossed into this ditch, so-

_No._

He couldn’t feel his legs. Thoughts of paralyzation began piling up in his mind and he panicked, straining to reach down and feel for his legs, pinching and slapping at them, but to no avail. A strangled scream burst forth from his throat and he collapsed backwards as his ribs shrieked in pain, hands falling limply by his sides as he gasped.

Wait! Jughead tilted his head to listen as the faint noise grew closer, eyes widening as he realized what it was. A car! Someone was on their way home late, and even though he was in the ditch maybe, maybe they would hear him if-

“Hey! Hey, I’m down here, please I need help!” His voice rasped and he needed air, but he kept yelling, praying that they would hear him. He saw the headlights coming closer, it looked like they were slowing down, yes they had to be!

“Yeah! Please, I’m in the ditch, I got hit by a-” The lights passed by, the sounds of the engine disappeared, and only the smell of exhaust remained, drifting through the air like an omen of death.

“-car.” The last word was hollow, hanging there like a noose as the hopelessness of Jughead’s situation settled over him like a blanket, weighing him down further. He let his head drop limply to the grass, and his gaze flicked up to stare listlessly at the sky while the boxer in his skull pounded away violently. That was it then, the last hope he had just drove off without a backwards look. For a moment, bitter war raged in the teen’s pained eyes, battling between hope and despair, before finally exhaustion won.

Breathing out slowly, Jughead allowed his muscles to relax for the first time in days, and he did his best to ignore the way his ribs creaked ominously as he got settled, choosing instead to focus on the sky above him. His blue orbs tracked the flight of two songbirds as they danced overhead, sad melodies catching on the breeze and swirling down to fill his ears while the wind gently ruffled his ebony hair.

The black silhouettes of pine trees swayed quietly, and for a moment they reminded him of Mrs. Walters flowers, of how they had waved cheerily at him from her window the first night he’d chosen to visit. Looking back now, he was sure she’d known exactly why he’d come in, and why he’d always been reluctant to leave, and yet she’d let him. Never pushing, never asking why he was so thin, only offering him some biscuits, and not once had she told him what he _should_ do, she’d simply talked about all the things she had done that day. Even now, he was sure she was asking just the right questions for Rip, using the ones she knew he could answer and keeping them kind and unintrusive, because that was just who Mrs. Walters was.

He hoped Rip’s mom liked the bouquet, because the look of joy they were sure to share would probably be the only thing keeping Rip from tying a bell around his scrawny neck and putting him on a leash after this. If he lived, he honestly might let him.

Jughead’s breathing hitched for a second, and the next thing he knew he was coughing, hacking and wheezing for all he was worth as his lungs fought against the pressure of the very things that should have been protecting them. Instead his ribs were crushing him, and he couldn’t really blame them after everything he’d done to them in the past, letting them poke out so much, or just plain old bruising them by getting beat up. Something bubbled up his throat, he felt it dribbling slowly down his chin and he recognized the coppery taste immediately; blood.

A childish fear rose up within him as the coughing finally ceased, and his eyebrows tilted in sadness at the realization that he had just hacked up blood. Tears slid from the corners of his eyes, flowing across his cheeks before disappearing into his hairline, and a small sob tore from his lips as he cried alone in the grass. Darkness gradually swarmed at the edge of his vision, and the trees swam as the world seemed to tilt around him, twisting violently in one last cruel act against him. Slamming his eyes shut Jughead swallowed convulsively, fighting to keep the scarlet liquid down, to keep the nausea at bay, to stop the pounding in his head. Please let it go away, let it disappear, let it just stop!

It stopped.

Something bathed his eyelids in red light and slowly they fluttered open, revealing that the sun was at last setting. It’s last rays shone down on him softly, lingering over his nose peppered with faint freckles, before caressing his tear-stained face with warm fingers, and gently passing over his bloody lips on it’s journey to the West. When it vanished beyond the trees Jughead knew that it was only now that he was truly alone, but he wasn’t lonely.

The pain faded away to a quiet murmur as night approached, and with it went any panic, any fear, and any tears that might have threatened him further. Jughead’s shallow breathing slowed, and he stopped watching the spot where the sun disappeared, turning instead to rest his gaze on the sky once more, letting the comforting scent of the wind wash over him while the crickets began their gentle lullaby. It was so peaceful here, with soft grass holding him kindly as the solid ground kept him from falling apart, and if he listened carefully he could hear the songbirds settling musically into their nest to sleep.

A soft smile pulled at his bloody lips, and through the shadows playing at the corners of his vision, he saw a star twinkling blithely down at him from it’s place in the heavens. Vaguely he wondered what it would be like to be a star, to shine so brightly as you smiled at a world full of pain, feeling every spark of strife in your heart as your innards fought to tear you apart from the inside out. It had to be very sad he thought, to be so brilliant that every second of your life you’re in vivid agony, as those around you hiss spite at you for being yourself. Then, when people at last look at you and see your true beauty, all they are left gazing at is your ghost because you, the real you, died centuries ago.

Just outside of a small town called Riverdale, in a ditch filled with the music of crickets, cushioned by grass and cradled by the earth, a thin boy lay as he had been thrown. His legs sprawled among the daisies, his arms rested where they’d fallen at his sides, and a gentle summer breeze ruffled his dark hair as a grey beanie sat abandoned a few feet away. The boy gazed up at the stars until darkness stole his vision, until his blue eyes closed, until his voice dyed in his throat, and until at last he found peace.

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say lighten the mood? Okay, so I might have fudged the truth a bit, but it started out more upbeat didn't it? There is actually a genuine reason behind the cliffhanger though, so hear me out before anyone gets to violent. The last few chapters have been one-shots, but they've also been pretty long and I wanted to try and split this up into two smaller parts and see how you guys liked that in comparison.
> 
> That being said, my online classes are starting up tomorrow so I have no idea when I'll post next...  
> BUT I will do my best, and hopefully the next chapter won't be as hard to write as this one was.
> 
> As always, please feel free to comment on any questions, feedback, likes or dislikes you have. I promise you I adore getting them and they motivate me almost as much as coffee!


	5. Mischief Managed Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a while to write, mostly cause I've been busy with school. In all honesty this one is a lot more from FP's perspective, but I hope you like it!

Chapter 4.5: Mischief Managed Part II

It was Wednesday morning in the little town of Riverdale, and it looked like the day was going to be a great one. Robins were warbling happily as they pecked at worms in the dewy green grass, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves of the maple trees on its way to spin the old weathervane at Pickin’s farm. Young bunnies poked their heads out to sniff at the summer air, and small fluffy clouds puffed slowly across the sky like a welcome mat in preparation for the dawn.

The sun peeked cheerily over the horizon, beaming kindly down at white picket fences and homey houses as it’s yellow rays spread over the corn fields, bringing warmth and life to the quiet countryside. Sweet colours swirled in the heavens, painting the clouds with delicate pinks and glowing oranges, and diving down to speckle the roads in soft light. On the corner of a silent street the wind caught the scent of Mrs. Walters flowers and carried it, gusting cheekily through open windows and into kitchens while the people of Riverdale tiredly shuffled out of bed and towards coffee.

It was a beautiful morning in every way that mattered, every way that anyone could see, and the birds twittered joyfully, promising that today would be the best time anyone could remember. Then a phone rang in the Sheriff’s station, and soon another, and another until the quiet dawn was filled with the smell of panic, the sounds of running feet, and the distant thrum of a motor bike.

A teenage boy had been found dead in a ditch.

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Susan had been driving down the road on her scooter, heading out to help her sister with a water leak on her day off as a matter of fact, and she’d almost made it out of Riverdale as she munched happily on a piece of bacon. Then something caught her eye. It was small sure, but it appeared grey and soft like her niece’s stuffed goose, and it definitely didn’t look like something that belonged in a ditch just outside of town. Shrugging amiably she came to a stop by the side of the road, climbing out and picking her way carefully down the steep slope as she squinted at the object. Halting, she bent to pick up the thing, wondering what in the world it could possibly be before almost dropping it when a ladybug crawled out, startling her so bad she nearly choked on the last of her breakfast.

It was a hat. Tilting her head Susan turned the piece of headgear over in her hands, peering curiously at the red button stitched delicately into the fabric and glancing around as if some homeless guy would jump out of a bush and demand she give it back. When no such thing happened she shrugged, moving to shove the thing into her pocket but finding that she couldn’t. Something gnawed at her stomach, making her turn to see that one shrub further down had been crushed like some animal had charged through, and she found herself moving closer almost without meaning to.

Maybe it was just the morning air sending that chill up her spine, or perhaps the humidity was causing her every hair to stand on end, but some sixth sense tugged her forwards, until finally she stumbled through the gap in the foliage. And froze.

On the ground just out of view of the highway, in a clearing surrounded by bushes and largely sheltered by tall pines, there sat a body. Clutching the beanie tightly in one hand, Susan inched closer, barely daring to breathe as she took in the scene before her with a mixture of horror and awe.

In a patch of white daisies a thin boy lay, his ebony hair seeming painfully out of place when compared with the snow-coloured flowers surrounding him, and his alabaster skin stood out starkly against the dew kissed grass. His lean limbs were sprawled out haphazardly around him as if he’d simply flopped down to relax, and even as Susan watched, a crow descended lightly onto the warm earth near the boy’s head, pecking uncertainly at a button on his leather jacket. The youth’s dark lashes rested gently against his cheeks indicating sleep, yet his lips were painted a vivid scarlet, and more red could be seen staining his pale throat. A soft smile graced his features even in slumber, and laying as he was surrounded by innocent flowers he positively radiated peaceful energy, as if he’d simply accepted that his fate was to lay there.

Alarm bells began to go off in Susan’s head, and for a second she was confused as to what her instincts were trying to tell her. Then it clicked in her brain what exactly the red liquid was, and she realized in horror that that boy was not asleep. Something was very wrong.

A cracked phone twinkled at her from beneath a nearby shrub telling her that an attempt at communication had been made, and her breathing sped up the closer she got to the kid. The way his legs were resting was off, and combined with the dent in the bush behind them it was seeming more and more like he’d been thrown. One limp hand was curled around his midsection protectively, and if Susan didn’t know any better he’d say that wrist was broken, or at least fractured, and the bruising smattering the boy’s knuckles was way worse than could be gained in a mere fist fight.

Stepping forwards she crouched down, peering at the boy’s lean chest in confusion because, from this angle, it didn’t look like it was moving. Reaching out she rested two fingers against a very cold throat, only to freeze as an iron vice gripped her heart. He wasn’t _breathing._

Susan would never admit it to her strict mother, but she’d failed her training in the police academy and had ended up being kicked out.It certainly showed here as she only now took in the lack of breathing, along with the fact that young boys didn’t just misplace their phones and flop down to take a nap on the side of the road. Panic overtook her then, and she stumbled backwards clumsily, staring in horror at the scene before her as it transformed from a picture of pure peace, to the last resting place of an innocent child.

In the years to come she would look back at the event with shame, remembering that it took her a whole forty seconds to stop hyperventilating, and another ten for her to realize that she should call this in, so when she reached for her phone it was with shaking hands. Clumsily she started CPR, her thoughts racing as she pushed down, again and again. Would they get here in time? Would they be able to save the boy laying dead among the daisies?

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FP was exhausted. His every nerve was frayed to the end, and no matter how much coffee he had, how many times he searched through the data, and checked and re-checked with the Serpents, nothing changed. Jughead, his son, had gone missing at 7:00 pm that night, or rather last night, because now it was 5:00 am and the sun was beginning to rise merrily over the horizon as if nothing was wrong. The station shifts were switching like normal, the birds were twittering away gaily, and the citizens of Riverdale were still sleeping in their beds, because the entire world was pretending that everything was fine. Like his son wasn’t missing, like FP had actually been able to find him, like he _was_ just sleeping peacefully in his bed at home.

But he wasn’t. FP had been about a second away from cutting Rip open when he realized that he hadn’t noticed the kid’s absence for an entire hour, and he just might have too if the man didn’t look like he was about to do it for him and end his own life. Of course the usual call had gone out, the normal message had landed in everyone’s group chat, “Anyone seen Jughead? He ditched again.” This time though, this time there were no replies from Sweet Pea and Fangs saying he was raving about the ludocrity of french fries while hanging upside down from a booth at Pop’s. No one stated that they’d seen the kid climbing into Red’s window with a wrench and a bag of jellybeans, and FP had felt his stomach twist as he realized that he could not reassure them with the fact that his son was in fact at home safe.

Looking back they would regret that it had taken long, too long, for them to affirm that he was missing, for them to send out search parties and contact any non-Serpent associates to ask if they’d seen him. Sweet Pea, Fangs, and Toni had all looked in the guy’s favorite hiding spots they knew of, and FP had used his resources at the sheriff’s office while about a dozen other Serpent’s combed the town, but to no avail. It was as if the teen had vanished into thin air.

FP’s fist slammed down hard against his desk, and he only just kept himself from yelling in frustration. In fear, in worry, in anxiety, in anger, and in pure, unadulterated terror. Kira shot him a pitying look that he in no way appreciated, following it up with an even less pleasing set of words.

“Try not to let it get to you, Sheriff. Your son’s a good kid, he’s probably out doing some crazy project or another. Or, maybe he just fell asleep in an alley somewhere, you know he seems awfully tired these days.”

He shot her a glare that could melt stone, and she squeaked in fear before returning to her paper work, marking two files wrong in her hurry. Leaning heavily on his forearms, FP let his head hang in exhaustion, scrubbing roughly at his eyes as if it would help to keep them open, and running a hand through his already mussed hair. Yeah, she was right in a way, Jug was a good kid, and yes, he could just as easily be out working on some insane project, or even more likely sleeping soundly on a rooftop. But something deep within him knew that this was different, that there was something very wrong going on.

Then the phone rang. Rubbing at one tired eye FP picked it up, expecting yet another call about a cat in a tree, or some teen blowing up the kitchen. Oddly enough, the woman on the other end sounded out of breath, and he could swear there were tears in her voice when she said,

“Hello? I, I need help, I’m between the end of the town road and the, the exit to the highway. I...I found a body in the ditch.” He heard her gulp for air, or, no that wasn’t right, she was breathing out only it sounded strange...she was talking again, and he strained to listen as she spoke shakily.

“I’m, I’m trying to do CPR on him, but it’s not, it’s not working and...” At this point Kira, who had been listening in, was already giving the details to an ambulance driver as he sped over, and FP told the woman as much, finding this distraction welcome as he asked for her name and the body’s appearance.

“My name’s Susan, Susan Monroe. It’s a, a young boy, he looks pretty thin, and he’s wearing all black with a leather jacket.” Wait, all black and leather, that sounded like a Serpent- “He, he has black hair and light skin, and I, well I found this grey beanie nearby so I think it might be his...”

FP didn’t hear anymore because a high pitched ringing was filling his ears, and he couldn’t _fucking breathe._ A boy with dark hair and pale skin who was wearing all black? That was normal, but a grey beanie...The world seemed to tilt and then he was standing, staring at absolutely nothing and he threw the phone at a receptionist, not even bothering to look and seen if she caught it as he staggered forwards.

_Black hair..._ He never imagined he’d have his son’s corpse described to him on the job... _Light skin..._ As if from far away he heard someone calling him.. _.A grey beanie_...Wind whipped at his hair as he sped down the road but he couldn’t hear it, couldn’t hear anything other than the frantic beating of his heart. Time seemed to stretch on forever, leaving him trapped with panic clawing at his lungs and the same sentence repeating itself again and again in his head. _A young boy is dead in a ditch._

Then he was stumbling off of his bike and crashing down the side of the road, calling out for the person that had reported it, praying that they had been wrong, that he wasn’t about to find his boy dead on the ground. He pushed a bush out of his way, not even wincing as it lashed back to scratch as his face, and walked right into a scene made somewhere between heaven and hell.

People in white dashed around while the few cops who were there desperately tried to keep them from trampling “evidence” and there in the center of it all, lay his son. He looked so fragile sprawled out limply with snow-colored flowers surrounding him, and his dark curls framed his smiling face. Despite his scrawny size, Jughead had always seemed to stand out sharply, like a knife in a world of clouds as he stared down countless enemies. Now though, now his thin limbs looked as flimsy as paper, and the green grass seemed as though it were about to swallow him whole. It was as if a bird had been shot down from the heavens.

Every sound that had previously been stolen by panic came rushing back, and suddenly there was too much noise, too many people, and way to little care shown for his son. Someone was shifting his limbs this way and that, inspecting them like he was a piece of meat, and behind him he could hear a news van pulling up even as more police showed up to trample the crime scene. FP clenched his fists tighter, resisting the urge to rush forwards only because he knew he couldn’t help. He couldn’t do a _damn thing_ , and he’d never felt so worthless as in that moment.

This was wrong. It was so horribly wrong that his ears were wringing from the amount of noise, but he couldn’t hear the one sound he wanted; his son’s breathing. There was nothing more terrible than being surrounded by constant motion, but only being able to focus on the one thing that wasn’t moving; his little boy. A motion caught his eye and he tore his gaze momentarily away from the paramedic pounding on Jughead’s still chest, fixing his eyes on his watch. It was moving? How? How could time possibly still be spinning, how could the world be running when his son was dead? How could people keep on living if his kid didn’t?

A rib cracked under the relentless pressure of the medic, and FP felt something inside him snap at the sound. His breath caught in his throat as he staggered forwards, and fate opened a path in the chaos for the man, the father going to his son. He crumpled to his knees beside the still form, his eyes were stinging and he knew those were tears slipping out, but he didn’t care. Bowing his head he prayed, he begged any god that would hear him, to _please, please_ _make his son live again. Please, let_ _his baby boy breathe._

Then Jughead _breathed_. He coughed, and choked, and spluttered until red speckles landed on his fair cheeks, but it didn’t matter because he was _breathing._ For one time-freezing moment his son’s ocean eyes flickered open, gazing glassily up at the sky before latching onto his father, and the desperate pain FP saw in them shattered his heart like nothing else ever could. A weak hand twitched, and he reached out, clasping it in both of his warm calloused ones in a silent promise that he was there, that he _always_ would be.

Then the moment was gone, and the world was spinning again more violently than before, but FP didn’t let go of his son’s hand. Even as the paramedics screamed at each other and Jughead was lifted onto a stretcher. Even as the cops stared in awe at what should have been a mystery murder case in the bag, and backed away slowly to give the gurney room. Even as they reached the top of the ditch and were greeted with flashing cameras and nosy early-morning reporters, all screaming questions and snapping pictures of the limp form being carried away. He didn’t let go, he didn’t look up from his boy’s still face, and he didn’t so much as glare when the medics pushed him impatiently into the back of the ambulance.

The ride to the hospital was loud, and the paramedics made a mess as they rushed around the small space, checking vitals, dabbing at blood, and pushing an oxygen mask gently over Jughead’s nose and- oddly red -mouth. FP _should_ have called the Serpents, he _should_ have been annoyed by the noise, and he honestly should have been asking a million and one questions like any good sheriff would. Instead he sat quietly holding the cold hand in both his own, only speaking to ask what he could do to help, and only shouting when the medic tried to cut the Serpent jacket off his son’s shoulders.

He would love to scream at the man to back off, to keep his poking away from him and his boy, and to stay a minimum of five feet away if he didn’t want to loose a hand. However, he knew that the guy was just doing his job, and the idiot was currently the only thing keeping Jughead alive, so murder would have to wait for the thugs that did this, and it was definitely thugs. Half way through the ride FP had been told rather hesitantly- and rightly so -that his son had all the injuries associated with car accidents, specifically the ones where someone gets hit by a car. Bruised and fractured ribs, a fractured wrist(not the one he was holding, they assured him when he jolted back in horror) heavy bruising all along his torso and down to his thighs, and a bad looking concussion.

Of course much was yet to be discovered, and they would only know for sure how bad the head injury was once Jughead woke up, but that didn’t do anything to sooth FP’s shredded nerves as he followed along side the gurney while it was wheeled down the white halls. His mind was so preoccupied on the issue of who exactly was going to have to be killed for this, that he didn’t notice they’d gotten to surgery until suddenly his son was being ripped away from him. Their hands were torn apart and, before he could so much as yell in dismay, he was being herded through the hospital and settled into a chair with a form to fill out.

FP’s admittedly red eyes drifted down to stare at the scrap of paper, his mind whirling desperately as he tried to work through what had just happened, what was _still_ happening. Automatically he filled in Jughead’s name, “ _Thank God this isn’t for his morgue ID”_ and then his own in the Parent/Guardian space. His son had almost died, and he hadn’t known about it until that morning. No, he _had_ died, he’d been laying alone in a ditch for who knew how long before his breathing finally stopped, and it was only by pure luck that Susan had found him in time to save him. Speaking of Susan-

FP’s head snapped up to find the woman herself standing shakily before him, staring pointedly at her feet and looking as if she was on her way to the gallows. Oh. He really couldn’t blame her for being so scared, considering that he’d often made his Serpents afraid of him when they interrupted one of his self-hatred moments. Yeah, there was no getting around that his two scariest moods were when someone had hurt his family, or when he was angry at himself, and seeing as both were applicable right now he probably looked like a demon with rabies. He was brought out of his thoughts quite suddenly when Susan held out a hand, and something grey shook in her trembling fingers as she mumbled nervously.

“I, I’m so sorry for what happened. One of the officers told me you’re his father and, well I never imagine I was accidentally announcing your little boy’s death to you when I called. I can’t even begin to understand what that must have been like, I’m so terribly sorry.” He could do nothing but gape at her heart felt apology, an apology for something she had absolutely no control over. Before he could tell her it was fine though, she spoke up again, seeming to gain courage as she went.

“I was going to go down to the station to answer the officer’s questions, but then I remembered this, and well, I know how much my daughter’s necklace means to her. She’d be devastated if it was ever lost.” Carefully she allowed the object to slip from her grasp, coming to land in FP’s outstretched and trembling hands, before saying kindly, “I’m sorry, I hope he gets better soon.” Then she spun around and began to walk away because really, what else could she say?

FP’s hand was moving to continue filling out the form when she turned slightly, calling over her shoulder even as she stepped out through the doors. “I hope your little boy knows just how lucky he is to have such a wonderful father.” Then she was gone, leaving her words echoing around the waiting room.

The pen dropped with a clatter to land on the clipboard, and FP stared after her with a mixture shock and awe, wondering how one sentence could cut so deeply to his soul. Him, a good father? And the very thought that Jughead didn’t still resent him...The idea was ridiculous, but somehow it still lit a spark of hope in him that burned brightly, warming his chest as it spread. Then he looked down at the grey beanie held gently in his rough hands as though it would shatter, and his own voice laughed hatefully at him. The spark died, because he knew no matter how much he wished those things were true, they could never be. He had failed his son.

FP’s hopeless feelings stayed as he filled out the form, and continued well into the next hour while he waited, eventually remembering to call the Serpents and explain to them what had happened. They were frantic of course, seeing as the only news they’d had was the statement “Teenage boy found dead.” and a few pictures of their young leader’s still body laid out on a stretcher.

Now that FP had filled them in they positively swarmed the waiting room, and it was all their previous king could do to convince most of them to go guard the exits, _outside_ instead of freaking out the nurses. Fangs, Toni, and Sweet Pea, or the golden trio as he’d dubbed them, stood huddled together around him as if someone might attack him too. Yet while the confused father’s thoughts made sense, the truth was they were there for him, to support him when he looked about a second from falling apart. They’d be there to help him, even if he’d never admit that he needed it, just like his son.

Speaking of the Serpent King, a doctor stepped into the waiting area, looking nervous as he called out,

“Family of Forsythe Jones the uh, the third?”

The poor guy clearly had no clue what to do when no less than ten very threatening looking people bounded forwards, and FP was forced to shoo six of them away, leaving the doctor sighing in relief to only be faced with him and the golden trio. Their collective hope soared as he gestured for them to follow him deeper into the hospital, explaining as he went.

“Mister Jones is incredibly lucky that Mrs. Monroe found him when she did, otherwise I’m afraid he would not be alive right now. As it is, his heart stopped twice on the operating table due to blood loss from the internal bleeding, and well...” Pausing, he took in their worried and more than a little impatient faces, then asked with much more understanding than they expected,

“You seem like straightforward people, so would you like me to just list his injuries for you? After that we can discuss treatment plans.” They all nodded in relief, and he continued down the hall, beginning to go through the list in his hands as he went.

“Right, well there’s no doubt that he was hit by a vehicle of some kind. Mister Jones has nine bruised ribs, six of which are cracked, and one of which is broken all together. That last rib almost punctured his left lung, but luckily we managed to set it back in place before that could occur. His left wrist is fractured, and both hands have suffered heavy abrasions along with some bruising and lacerations. His entire torso along with the top half of his thighs are heavily bruised, and it’s a miracle nothing was fractured there. He also suffered from temporary paralysis, but it appears he’ll be walking again in no time. However, the impact caused some internal bleeding as I’ve said, and I honestly have no idea how he survived it for as long as he did, especially with as severe of a concussion as he has.”

They were stopped outside of a door now, and a good thing too because Fangs was looking quite green, while Toni was white as a sheet and Sweet Pea honestly seemed like he was about to cry. FP cleared his throat in an attempt to get the lump out before asking, “You said as long as he did. How, how long was he out there?”

At this the doctor sighed, and looked genuinely apologetic when he spoke, stating quietly.

“Around ten hours, from what we could calculate.”

Ten hours?! The world seemed to be falling out from under him, and FP only just managed to catch himself on the door frame before his vision began to flicker, blinking in and out like the channels on a TV. His boy had been lying in a ditch around the town line, paralyzed, with a one in a billion chance of being found, totally alone and badly injured, for _ten hours._ He’d been dying with not a soul around to help him or even offer comfort and yet, FP fought back the urge to vomit, Jughead had been smiling when they’d found him. He’d looked so at peace, surrounded by beautiful flowers and held by the earth as if he had accepted that he was dying.

The doctor chose that moment to snap the four out of their similarly morbid thoughts, speaking with a hopeful tone born of many years hard work as he told them, “The injuries Mister Jones sustained were indeed severe, but we expect him to make a full recovery. I don’t know how, but somehow he survived ten hours of displaced ribs, internal bleeding, and more bruises than I care to count. Your boy is amazingly strong, Mr. Jones, and I’m fully confident that he’ll pull through.”

FP’s once again sharp eyes snapped up, gazing pointedly at the door as he nodded vaguely in agreement. Yes, Jughead was strong, so incredibly strong he really didn’t know where he got it from. It couldn’t be him, that was for sure. However, before he could drift further into self hatred the doctor saved him yet again from himself, stating cheerfully,

“Yes you can see him now, although he is unconscious and for the healing process to work quickly he must stay that way. Do try and be quiet.” Apparently Toni had asked if they could visit Jughead, because no sooner had the words left the doctor’s mouth than she was nodding gratefully, clutching both the boys arms tightly as she edged towards the door. For a moment he was sure she’d forgotten him, but the next thing he knew Sweet Pea was putting a firm but friendly hand on his shoulder, and before he could speak out he had been lightly shoved into the room.

There, laying motionless on a thin bed, with more tubes sticking out of him than should be possible, was Jughead. An oxygen tube led from his nose to a machine nearby, and in his right hand there was an IV while his left wrist was hidden by a dark blue cast. Taking a step closer, FP could see that bandages were wound around his whole torso, bulging out slightly beneath the hospital gown, and his jacket and boots were on a chair to the right of his bedside. His black hair stood out starkly against the white hospital pillow, but his too-pale skin fit right in, making it appear like he was fading into the bed, as if he actually was dead. He still looked so small lying there, thin enough that even the narrow bed seemed too big, and the vivid bruises contrasted terribly against his fair complexion.

Slowly FP made his way to the bed, pulling up a chair as the golden trio did the same, and together they formed a semicircle around the unconscious teen’s form. The door closed meaning the doctor had left, and for five minutes there was nothing but silence, quiet enough to hear that none of them were really breathing, just inhaling whenever it seemed they’d pass out. They were waiting, but for what they didn’t know, since it was clear Jughead wasn’t about to wake up anytime soon. Still, they wished he would. They wished he’d jump up and start rambling on about some insane plot, or even storm out of the room with an angry scowl and a word of spite.

Anything would be better than this. This silence that consumed him, stilling his ever-fidgeting limbs and smoothing out the stress lines around his eyes and mouth, leaving him looking so painfully... _young._ Reaching out, FP took his son’s IV pierced hand in both his own, resuming their previous arrangement as if he’d never left, and carefully running his thumb over the bandaged knuckles.

“ _This is my fault.”_ The statement was merely uttered in his mind, but Sweat Pea seemed to catch on with that bizarre sixth sense that no one expected him to have, and he replied gruffly as if holding back tears.

“It’s not your fault, FP. None of this is anyone’s fault but the guys that did this, and if Rip has his way they won’t even exist anymore in a couple hours.”

FP only shook his head, eyes staying fixed on his boy’s hand, even as Toni took up the argument, leaving Sweet Pea to collect himself as she exclaimed, “He’s right, FP! There was no way you could have known this would happen, no way any of us could have! We did our best, we made sure he had an escort. Hell, we had a full out debate with him trying to get him to see it our way! But Jughead’s stubborn, and we-” She was cut off by an abrupt hitch in her breathing, and she swallowed hard, joining Sweet Pea in his attempts not to cry. Seeing her plight, Fangs filled in, sounding kind but firm as he worked to convince their previous leader of his innocence.

“We all knew that eventually even we wouldn’t be able to protect him, and, and I think he knew it too. He’s not, not like other people, he doesn’t react to danger the way other people do. If he sees something bad, he runs towards it. If he something threatens him, he always looks at us, to make sure we’re okay.” Fangs sniffed hard, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he cleared his throat. He had to see this through.

“Jones, he’s never been afraid to put himself in harm’s way for others if it means they’ll be okay. It’s who he is, and I’m pretty sure he knew it would catch up with him some day. We knew it too somehow, I guess, we just didn’t want to believe it because...” Fangs fell quiet then, and he didn’t need to finish the sentence because they all knew what he had been about to say. None of them had wanted to believe that he’d get hurt, because if he did he’d give it 100%, just like he did everything else.

He had, and this time he had literally died in a ditch, just like they’d all said he would if he wasn’t careful. He had, and there was nothing they could do about it, nothing they could do except wait.

So they waited.

The sun rose steadily into the sky, and Sweet Pea left to get them coffee. The birds kept twittering away, and Fangs walked out, only to return a while later with Rip saying that the guys had been caught; they wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Nurses filed in and out to check Jughead’s vitals, and the doctor entered to tell them that “Mister Jones is looking better already, and he should wake up soon.” Soon came, and soon went, and eventually Toni shooed the Serpents back to their campsite, promising to update them in case anything happened. The sun set, and finally FP’s head rose to take in his surroundings, stretching his neck for the first time in hours.

Beside him the golden trio had dozed off, with Toni half curled up in Sweat Pea’s lap while Fangs leaned against his shoulder, all snoring softly while the quiet beeping continued. The beeping that told FP his son was still alive. He sighed tiredly, running a hand through his tangled hair as he looked around for a clock. 10:00 pm. His stomach growled in response to that revelation but he ignored it, absentmindedly pulling the grey beanie from his pocket while giving the windows a once over; the guys that did this may have been caught, but Jughead seemed to have as many enemies as he had lived years on this earth, although god only knew how.

How could he have let this happen? Jughead had already almost died once because of his father’s stupidity, how could he have stood by while it happened again? His gaze flitted over to his son’s face and his chest constricted, stealing his breath as a lump formed in his raw throat. It shouldn’t be like this. He knew it was pointless, but his thoughts strayed yet again to all the things his boy should have, should be feeling right now.

He _should_ have grown up in a stable home, with a present mother and a good father that wasn’t always drunk. But instead he grew up in a broken home with an alcoholic old man, and had ended up being homeless for a good month. He _should_ have been out partying with Red and Betty, living his life to the fullest like young people ought to do, and lazing around on the weekends. Instead he was constantly busy, every hour of every day. He lead a gang AND worked a job, AND went to school, all while trying to avoid being killed by thugs. He should be happy, and whole, and fleshed out. Not this thin, broken little boy that lay on the bed before him, soaked in pain and sadness.

FP’s eyes burned like they’d been set on fire, and his heart ached with guilt, sending tremors through his hands and driving knives into his gut. There had been moments in the past months, when just for a second he’d believed that maybe, just maybe he was redeemable, that Jughead might not hate him, and that he could be a better man. A better father. But now those thoughts seemed foolish, and his own voice laughed at him from a corner in his brain, mocking his weakness and screaming that he would never be a good man, that his son would _never_ forgive him.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, and suddenly he couldn’t see anything more than blurry images, swirling and warping as tears filled his eyes, soaking his cheeks as he shook with silent grief. Sobs racked his strong frame, and his hands clutched the grey beanie tight, as if somehow that would make it all stop. As if it could save his sinner’s soul.

“Dad?”

The voice was so quiet, so raspy and faint and raw, that at first FP thought he’d imagined it, pulled it from the depths of his mind in an attempt to keep the world from falling out from under him. But then he heard a stuttering breath, and his head snapped up, looking at the bed to be met with a pair of drowsy blue eyes.

“Jug?” His own voice was just a hoarse, and anyone who heard them would’ve thought they were smokers, but it wouldn’t have mattered because Jughead shifted slightly, blinking owlishly at his crying father. Said father scrubbed at his eyes hurriedly, leaning forwards as if to reassure himself that yes, his boy was actually awake. He looked confused, and his brows scrunched up like he was thinking hard, yet he didn’t seem like he was in pain. More concerned than anything it looked like, and FP couldn’t blame him one bit, seeing as he didn’t know his attackers had been caught. His throat worked, his lips parted slightly as if he was about to talk, and FP braced himself for the stream of questions that was sure to follow. He thought of all the answers he had, about the car, about the thugs, about Jughead’s injuries, and he was sure he was ready for whatever was asked.

“It’s okay Dad, don’t cry.”

Nothing in this world could have possibly prepared him for the words that left his son’s mouth, stunning him into complete silence. _What?_ There Jughead lay, connected to every machine known to man, bruised from head to toe, surrounded by the smell of hospital that he hated so much, and being faced with his worried father after just waking up in a strange place. After he had literally _died_ in a ditch. And he was telling him, _him_ , his _father,_ that it was okay. Shocked didn’t even begin to describe how FP felt right then, but he didn’t get a chance to tell Jughead that because at that very moment he continued, sounding just a little stronger than before as he murmured softly.

“I’m gonna be okay. It’s fine Dad, really. I’m the one who ran off, remember?” A weak waver in his tone, something that sounded almost like a chuckle. Was he? Was he trying to cheer him up by making light of the situation? FP wanted to speak, to tell him that yes he ran off, but no it wasn’t his fault. To tell him that it wasn’t fine, that he should have _done something_ , should have never let this happen. But what came out was,

“I’m so sorry.” The words were barely above a whisper, and if they hadn’t been so close together it probably wouldn’t have been heard, quiet and raspy as it was. Except Jughead did hear it, and now it was his turn to look surprised, eyebrows crumpling further in confusion as he stared at his father, goggling at him like he had two heads.

Wha- Why’re you srry?” The words were slurred slightly, and the tube in his nose certainly didn’t make it any easier to talk, but FP somehow managed to go even further into shock, and he was still struggling to pick his jaw up off the floor when his son once again furthered his dialogue, stumbling over his vowels as he stubbornly pushed onward.

“’m the one who an aray- ‘m mean, ran ‘way. I ditched R’p an’ wen’ an’ got un rover-’m mean, run over. Wha cud you poss’bly be srry fer?”

What? What did he have to be sorry for?! How could he even ask that, he was-

“Because I knew this would happen!” His voice had risen slightly, and although it was still low enough not to wake the other sleeping teens, the frustration was plain in his tone. “I knew you’d ditch Rip, I knew the Niño Malos were in town, hell I even knew they were gunning for you! I knew everything I needed to, and I failed in the only job that matters to me. I couldn’t keep you safe!”

Dead silence filled the room for a beat, and then FP’s head was dropping, his hands shaking as he clutched at his hair, gritting his teeth to keep from sobbing. There it was. Undeniable proof that he was as shitty as fathers got. He’d failed his son, because of that Jughead at landed himself in the hospital, and now he had yelled at him, taking out his frustration at himself on an uncomprehending kid. What in the hell was _wrong_ with him?! He should leave. He should hand the family bank account over to Jughead, quit his job, and get out of town. Travel as far away as he could so he would stop hurting him!

“Dad.” Jughead’s voice sounded unsteady, and as he looked up FP expected to see his poor boy in tears, trying to hold back a cry that would surely hurt his ribs. Instead, those piercing blue orbs were staring straight at him, catching his gaze and holding it with a fiery determination he recognized vaguely as his own, reflected back through Jughead’s eyes. He didn’t look sad, no he looked mad. Furious in fact, and his voice was much stronger as he began to speak, his words coming out clear and angry.

“You knew? Well I’ll tell you what, if you just “knew” all these things were going to happen, if you know everything and apparently it’s your job to fix everything, then you know I don’t blame you!” His speech was still clear, but his tone rasped, as if his wrath was physically scratching him, clawing at his throat while he talked.

“You know that I chose to ditch Rip, you know I made that decision fully aware of the risks!” FP looked slightly surprised, and it seemed to give him momentum as he barreled onward, voice cracking while the beeping grew louder and more frantic.

“Yeah, I _knew_ that there was a new gang in town. I knew that they’d probably be looking to get me so they could prove that they were “better” I knew that being alone was dangerous, and I did it anyway! If you know so much, then you know that this was my fault, that _I_ was the one who put myself in danger, _not_ you!” He was breathing hard now, it was obvious it pained him because he winced on every fifth word, and he coughed once before continuing.

“You know that I’m not a kid anymore, I can take care of myself! You know what? I have been taking care of myself since I was fourteen, and I’m doing just fine!” Here he paused, solely because of the terrible grimace that crossed FP’s face. It disappearing before he could get a good look, but it was enough for him to realize what this was about. Why his dad was so mad. All his frustration left him then, and his shoulders slumped as exhaustion reared it’s ugly head. Jughead’s gaze softened at the haunted look in his father’s tired eyes, and when he spoke next it was quietly, although his voice still cracked badly with each word.

“You should know that I forgive you, that I forgave you months ago. You should know that I didn’t want you to worry, because you deserve some peace. You should know that I _don’t blame you._ ”

Twin tears made their way down Jughead’s pale cheeks, and slowly he reached out his uninjured hand, arm trembling with the effort and fingers wavering in a silent plea. FP heard it and, with blurred vision and his hands shaking terribly, he leaned down to grasped his son’s hand, holding it gently in his own calloused ones. For a moment not a word was spoken, because nothing needed to be said, and neither of them could clear the lumps in their throats if they wanted to, let alone manage a full sentence. Finally, FP met his son’s red-rimmed eyes, carefully reaching one hand up to cup his face before speaking, softly running a thumb over Jughead’s cheek bone to wipe away the tears.

“I’m so proud of you boy. I know I don’t say it enough, butit’s true. I couldn’t have asked for a better son, you know that right?” It was obvious by the shocked look in Jughead’s eyes that he didn’t, that he had as low of an opinion of himself as FP had thought he did of him. Even so he nodded weakly, breathing shallowly as his eyelids began to droop heavily, and he sighed contentedly allowing himself to settle better under the covers.

His eyes lit up with happiness as FP settled his beanie over his head, tucking it over his ears with a rather wet chuckle and giving him a gentle pat to make sure it stayed in place. His beanie was back where it belonged, his dad was going to be okay, and it didn’t look like he’d be keeling over anytime soon. He wanted to get the full story, to find out what exactly had happened while he was in that ditch, but a large yawn left him blinking drowsily up at his father, unable to do anything as the arms of sleep pulled at him insistently. Tomorrow, he thought hazily, tomorrow he’d ask about it, and maybe even ask Rip how his mom had liked the flowers.

“Love you, dad.” It was the only thing he could manage at the moment, and he was out before his father could even fully register the words, snuggling his head deeper into the pillow as he at last allowed himself to succumb to the siren call of darkness.

FP smiled down warmly at his son’s sleeping face, finding comfort in his soft breaths even as his body protested at he himself being conscious, leaving him more exhausted than he could ever remember being. Jughead didn’t hate him? No, he didn’t, and he’d fought hard to make sure his old man knew that, biting back when he’d first lashed out. Yeah, in true Jones fashion they’d both ended up yelling, seeming angry when in fact they’d only been worried and hurting.

A small laugh escaped the ex-serpent king, and he carefully brushed a curly lock away from Jughead’s face, once again holding his hand and leaning back in the plastic chair. As he did however, his gaze caught on the newly restored beanie, sitting benignly upon it’s owner’s head with a completely uninteresting appearance, besides looking like a crown. Yet, that hat meant more to Jughead than anyone would ever know, and now it meant more to FP too. Previously he’d stared at it with despair, finding it laying so limp in his hands in the waiting room. Now though, perched snugly where it belonged it served as a reminder that everything would be okay, a good omen. It filled him with hope.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this wasn't disappointing or anything. I felt like focusing more on how FP feels about how he's let down Jughead, since last chapter had plenty of Jughead POV. As always, I love feedback, so for those of you who asked me to update soon, let me know what you think! And of course for all you lovely people just now joining us, feel free to comment on any likes, dislikes, or questions you have!
> 
> Ps. To any of you reading my other fic, Ready to Strike, yes, I am going to update it soon hopefully, I just got caught up in this little adventure.


	6. Pied Piper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaackk! Folks I'm so sorry for my absence, Imma try and update more regularly for a good while here. Thank you all so much for your support, I promise you now each Kudo and comment brings me joy!
> 
> This one is a lot more mundane that past kinda murderous chapters have been, so it was interesting to write. I hope it was worth the wait!

As customary prejudice dictated, almost everyone in Riverdale seemed to be under the impression that they knew everything they needed to know about the Serpents. The Southside scum were a filthy gang, they carried switchblades around, and they couldn’t be trusted farther than one could throw them.

Now obviously anyone who tried to throw a Serpent would be dead before they hit the ground, so the consensus was that you couldn’t trust them at all. To most Northsiders the folks from across the tracks were dirty thieves and liars. An open-closed case of nut-jobs breeding for too long. One kid even went as far as to start the rumor that their favorite animal was a snake, which of course was absurd.

Sure they _were_ called the Serpents, but as any member knew, their mascot was a fluffy dog imaginatively tagged “Hotdog” So having a clear creature of choice wasn’t nearly as simple as most people seemed to believe.

Because of this, the child’s idea was seen as so ridiculous that a gang-wide debate was struck up in order to settle it, but it quickly escalated into a full on riot.

At some point during the row Toni jumped on the bar, deafeningly stating that they were all a bunch of animals with the ruckus they were making. Silence reined for a full second before people started getting offended, and it was another hour before any real choice was made.

In the end though, the decision wasn’t even about which creature everyone liked the best. It simply came down to a moment when Sweet Pea stood up, having stayed surprisingly quiet until then, and grumbled

“Seriously though, what’s with all the cats?”

You could hear a pin drop in the White Wyrm then, and even Fangs didn’t dare laugh at the stunned looks on everyone’s faces because yeah, Sweet Pea was right. No one had had the guts to ask about it, hell, not a soul had so much as mentioned the matter, but it was something they’d all noticed.

Their King had developed many habits recently, and one such tendency was being on the move constantly. Seriously, the kid _never_ stood still, not even for a minute, unless he’d passed out from exhaustion which unfortunately, happened much more often than any of them knew.

Jughead’s every day was devoted to movement, and to his duties as a student, a son, a leader, and a friend. He was a machine, and with everything he did the Serpents could honestly say they had no idea how he stayed standing as long as he did most nights.

No matter where he went though, at what speeds he travelled there, or how long it took him to complete a certain task, Jughead Jones was constantly shadowed by a _cat_.

Sure, at first it was funny, and the Serpents even took turns coming up with nicknames for the animal that had apparently taken a liking to their fearless leader. It was unspeakably adorable to see their dark King walking broodingly down the street, only to spot a sweet kitten bouncing not four steps behind him, acting as a ray of sunshine.

However, it had quickly become apparent that it was not merely one feline who had begun following the kid, nor even twenty for that matter. A fluffy critter would hang around for an entire day, while another might shadow him for a mere hour, and one particularly adorable kitten stuck with him for a full week.

The Serpents were dumbfounded, and there confusion only grew as time went on. If they didn’t know any better, they’d say every cat within a five mile radius of Riverdale had made it their personal mission to keep him company at least once a week.

Kittens hid in his school bag, tomcats stuck with him through the bad parts of town, and fluffy females followed him into grocery stores. A certain Ragdoll feline always seemed to meet the emo teen in the library, and while nothing was confirmed yet Toni once spied a Siamese jumping in through his bedroom window. Anywhere Jughead was, a cat wasn’t far behind, and this occurrence even extended to inside the Wyrm.

Their young King would stroll in as usual, completely ignoring the bright-eyed creature prancing along behind him when he addressed the Serpents, and no one could find the courage to interrupt him long enough to question it. A Jughead stopped in the middle of a planned out explanation was a very dangerous force to cross, so they let it be. Ticket actually went as far as snapping candids when she was sure she wouldn’t be noticed.

One with Jughead yelling at Tang, the furious glow in his sharp eyes completely offset by the Russian Blue perching on his shoulder. Another had him laughing with Toni at a choice book-related joke, the boy’s nimble fingers carding through a Siberian’s thick fur where it sat in his lap. There were tons by the time three weeks had passed, and even as they cooed at them the Serpents knew that if they were caught with this blackmail they’d be killed in their sleep.

Jughead slumping over the bar in despair while a tabby napped on his shoulders. Fishing a kitten out of a crevice in his bike. Shoving a Bengal into his bag to sneak it into school. Cradling a tiny puffball in his arms, it’s head poking out of his beanie after he’d wrapped it around the poor thing.

Their personal favorite though, was a picture depicting the thin kid sleeping on a sofa at the Wyrm. His black curls were free from his iconic hat allowing them to frame his face, and his lanky limbs were pulled in tight making him appear smaller. A brown cat was curled up with him, held gently to his chest while a half smile graced both occupants’ snoozing faces.

In light of these recent events Sweet Pea’s words struck home, leaving absolutely no one to protest his question/statement. The night was wrapped up within minutes, the unanimous agreement being that Jughead Jones was growing up to be a regular supernatural terror.

If only they knew how right they were...

\---------------------------------------

A bright beam of sunlight shone down through an open window, lighting the angles of a dark form sprawled out on the floor, his limbs tangled in a threadbare blanket. It was met with no reaction as it made it’s way over bronze skin and through russet hair, shifting with the tree branches outside the window to form a pattern on battle worn knuckles. Finally though, it came to rest on a set of coal lashes, promptly burning it’s red glare into the irises hidden beneath.

Fangs jolted upwards as if he’d been shot, one hand working to push his body upright while the other one scrubbed furiously at his stinging eyes. His sleep-slowed mouth fumbled for words and he glanced around blearily, raising a palm in an attempt to block out the hideous light that had awoken him.

“Whaz goin on? Where ‘m I, wha happened? Wha-Aaahhh!”

Fangs’ inspirational speech was cut short when he further extended his arm, waving it carelessly in a feebly effort to swat at the sunbeam torturing him. In the end all he managed to do was throw himself off balance, causing the hand supporting him to slip on the vinyl floor and sending him back to the ground in a crumpled heap.

A few choice expletives escaped the tanned teen, and his endless legs curled tighter to fit under the blanket before two caramel orbs opened once again, watering at the stinging brightness. Fangs’ fingers crawled over the tile to grab blindly at his phone, yanking it from it’s charger with more force than necessary before holding it up above his face.

**MONDAY, OCTOBER 3**

The words flashed at him in bold letters, and he threw the offending device across the room to land on the bed, allowing his arm to drop dramatically onto his brow. A groan of pure despair escaped him, quickly followed by enough curses to scare any sailor away as he rolled lethargically onto his side.

“Monday?! Come on!”

Fangs’ yells soon died down to perturbed grumbles and he sat up, yanking the blanket off of his tangled legs only to fold it neatly a second later, dropping it on a chair as he rose to his feet. There was no point in drawing out the morning anymore than he already had, because either way he was going to have to go to school and it might as well be with some breakfast in his stomach.

Ten minutes later he was showered, dressed in a new t shirt and the same jeans he’d worn the day before, and his pillow and blanket were politely stacked nearby. Grumbling out a last farewell to all the extra sleep he could have been getting Fangs snatched his bag from the floor, checking that he hadn’t forgotten anything before slinging it- along with his Serpent jacket -over his shoulder.

“Jones? Hey, don’t tell me you’re gone already.”

Fangs made his way down the stairs in a half-awake haze, calling out for the owner of the room he’d been allowed to crash in the night before. Despite the shower his mind still felt foggy, a fact he blamed solely on the lack of food in his currently growling stomach.

“Damn, the guy’s like a cat sometimes I swear.” He mumbled as he came to the last few steps, “There one minute, gone the next.”

Raising his voice again he aimed it at the kitchen, hoping his yells would alert any beanie-wearing occupant of his arrival. The last time he’d surprised Jughead he’d ended up with a switchblade at his throat and a bruise on his sternum from where the gangly teen had jumped on him.

“I’m coming down now Jones, so, ya know, maybe don’t kill me or anyth-”

For the second time that morning Fangs fell, only this time it was down three steps instead of merely collapsing backwards, and he gave a panicked yelp as he felt the ground disappear from beneath his feet. His arms flailed frantically, clawing at the weak railing only to slip a second later, leaving him to plummet helplessly towards the floor.

THUMP

Fangs hit the wooden vinyl hard, twisting at the last minute to land on his back in an attempt to avoid a bruised hip. His head smacked sickeningly against the ground when he landed, and for a moment the lights winked out as bright stars of pain exploded before his eyes. All the oxygen in Fangs’ lungs evacuated in one violent whoosh and he coughed, gasping for air while his long legs kicked uselessly at the stairs who had so callously betrayed him.

“ _Meow”_

Blinking feverishly to clear his vision, Fangs glanced from side to side as his head shrieked, searching for the source of the noise. Of course logically he knew he couldn’t of heard it since the Jones household had no pets, but still...

A sudden pressure on his chest startled him badly enough to send his feet scrabbling at the floor, desperate to get away from the mysterious thing currently sitting on him. A moment later though he froze, shocked gaze locked on the small creature peering down at him, and wondering exactly how hard he’d hit his head.

Perched atop him, looking for all the world like a cloud with eyes, was a cat. It’s fur was so white and fluffy that it was difficult to distinguish any solid body parts, but Fangs was fairly sure it’s back paws were resting on his sternum, and his theory was confirmed when something vaguely resembling a tail swished.

“ _Damn, it’s eyes are blue.”_

At the moment it was all he could think, staring up into those sky blue eyes while they twinkled curiously back at him, but a second later another thought occurred to him and his wonder turned to betrayal.

“You tripped me!”

Okay, so maybe he sounded a bit too indignant considering he was accusing a cat, yet there was no doubt that this creature was responsible for his painful fall, and thus should be blamed for the thunder now roaring in his skull.

“What the hell man? What’d I ever do to you, huh?”

The cat in question barely reacted to his cries of outrage, choosing instead to yawn innocently while reaching a paw up to lick, scrubbing at it’s face before settling down contentedly on Fangs’ chest.

“Oh, so that’s how it is? Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about, I know you did it you little-”

“Fangs?”

At the confusion tinted voice Fangs looked up, squinting in the morning light to see Jughead leaning in the kitchen doorway, one hand holding a cup of coffee while the other scratched at his beanie-less head. The bewildered expression on his friends face was enough to snap Fangs out of the argument he’d been engaged in, and he sluggishly sat up.

Withone hand holding the treacherous creature to ensure it didn’t fall and claw his shirt off, he stumbled to his feet, groaning when the change in elevation pulled at his head.

“What’s going on? I heard something fall, and by the time I get here you’re yelling at a cat?”

Jughead sounded like he was stuck between amused and very worried, but his concern clearly won out when Fangs swayed dangerously, clutching at the feline in his arms as if it could balance him. Placing his mug on a side table the thin teen hurried to steady his friend, on hand on his back while the other stayed on his shoulder to keep him from pitching forwards.

“I fell down the stairs an’ hit my head, all thanks to this little shit. Seriously Jones, since when do you even have a cat? Smug bastard keeps trying to deny his involvement, but I know it was him!”

Fangs’ statement didn’t exactly comfort Jughead as far as the boy’s sanity was concerned, but it did explain the thump. And the cursing. And the innocent look on the cat’s face as it was carried into the kitchen, seemingly content to curl up in the drunkenly weaving teen’s arms.

With a sigh, Jughead guided Fangs over the counter and left him leaning against it to retrieve his coffee, calling back over his shoulder at the swaying serpent’s back.

“Sorry about that, she’s new. Usually takes them a couple days to figure out what house rules are, never mind how to say please and thank you. It’s probably a good thing you weren’t at the top of the stairs when she tripped you.”

“ _What?”_ If Fangs’ head could feel any more like jelly then that’s what had happened because the explanation his friend had given was, well, it hadn’t explained a lot. _“New? And how’d he know I was-”_

He didn’t even get to finish the thought before a wave of dizziness hit him and he crumpled, clutching at the counter with one hand in a desperate ploy to halt what would be his third fall of the day.

Thin arms wrapped around his shoulders and the next thing he knew he was plummeting downwards once more, only this time he was taking a panicked noirette right along with him.

“Fangs? Come on pal, I need you to help me out here!”

Two minutes of frantic scrabbling and awkward shuffling later Fangs was solidly hunched over the counter, safe from any future collapses, and Jughead was on the floor in a heap. With a stifled moan he pushed himself to his feet, finishing off his drink as he made his way to the fridge, all the while cringing at Fangs’ confused mumbles.

“How’d you know I wasn’t at the top of the stairs? ‘m mean, you weren’ there so...an’ whaddaya mean new?”

In his defence, Fangs couldn’t exactly see straight at the moment, and the more he tried to focus the worse the vertigo became, causing the cat in his arms to warp and sway along with the rest of the room.

“I’ve fallen down those stairs enough times, I know what a full twelve step crash sounds like,”

An ice-pack appeared before the stunned teen and he snatched it clumsily, hurrying to press it onto the back of his head. A second later there was a steaming cup of coffee in his free hand and he marvelled at Jughead’s speed, sipping the hot liquid gingerly.

“It didn’t sound like that. Besides, if you’d gone all the way down, and _then_ hit your head, you wouldn’t even be conscious right now. Trust me.”

The words seemed as though they were echoing down a tunnel at first, but by the time a plate of toast and eggs materialized in front of Fangs they were almost clear. His headache receded as the ice did it’s job, and he sighed in relief when the food seemed to settle his squirming stomach.

“Thanks Jones. Really man, I mean it.”

He did. Going to school on Monday was nightmarish enough without a headache and an empty stomach, and his King had just saved him a world of misery. After getting no reply Fangs glanced up, fully expecting to see Jughead absorbed by some book or scribbling away at his notepad.

Instead he stared wide-eyed, watching in awe as the lanky boy washed dishes calmly in the sink across from him. Only it wasn’t the willingness to do the chore that surprised him, because goodness knows Jughead Jones was no slacker, and he was doing his damnedest to work himself into the ground. No, it was the cat sprawled lazily on Jughead’s shoulders.

This one was brown, and unlike the feline still huddling in the crook of Fangs’ arm, Jughead’s looked more relaxed as if it knew it was safe. Hadn’t Jones said that the cloud he currently held was new? If so that might explain the difference in attitudes, and maybe even why his cat- no, not his cat just the one that’d tripped him – seemed a bit scared.

“Uh, Jones?”

At the sound of his Serpent friend’s favored name for him Jughead turned, slowly though so as not to dislodge the purring animal wrapped around his neck.

“Yeah?”

Before Fangs could question him on his two new house guests however, Jughead turned to squint at the oven clock, and a second later he was hurrying to stack the dishes in the rack. A flash of brief panic showed in his eyes, but in an instant it was gone and he was drying his hands on a dishtowel, swinging his bag over his shoulder, and making a grab for Fangs’ sleeve.

“We’re gonna be late!”

The universally feared phrase galvanized even Fangs’ battered brain in to action and he shrugged on his jacket, depositing his furry burden on the floor before snatching his own bag off the stool beside him. A glance at his phone informed him that yes, they really were going to be incredibly late if they didn’t hurry, and together the two of them made a dash for the living room.

Jughead dove behind the couch to retrieve his algebra book, and Fangs caught a glimpse of orange fur in that direction as he lunged towards the coffee table to grab his history assignment. His hand was inches away from closing around the carefully organized stack when an unearthly yowl irrupted from underneath him.

What happened next Fangs would never rightly know, but the claw marks on his bare wrists never truly faded away, nor did the sight of Jughead holding two very pissed Bengals.

Apparently in his rush to get his school work he’d completely overlooked the two cats peacefully napping nearby. One had actually been laying on the second half of the paper while the other animal had chosen to take it’s rest on the carpet a mere centimetre from the table. Suffice to say, they didn’t take it well.

Three minutes, many scratches, and five snoozing cats later the pair barrelled out the door, each clutching their bags and at least one feline as they tried not to fall down the steps. Jughead miraculously had a hand free, and he used this appendage to lock the door while simultaneously gasping for breath.

“I can’t...believe...you landed...on Jack and...and Krampus.”

He let out something between a wheeze and a chuckle, producing his beanie and pulling it down over his ears while they dropped their respective cats on the steps. The two creatures didn’t seem unduly offended at being abandoned, and rather than meow to be let back in they wandered off on separate routes, leaving the dark-haired duo to stumble down the sidewalk in the direction of the school.

“You know what Jones? I can’t believe that you...that you have like twenty cats in...in your house.”

Fangs was only marginally better off in the exhaustion department, and his head began pounding again as they made their way across the street, revelling in the cold air after so much physical exertion. At this rate they’d be lucky if they even made it to first period in time, considering that the school was at least a fifteen minute walk.

“Twenty? You...you sure you didn’t get a concussion Fangs?”

The glare of resentment sent his way made Jughead laugh and, struggling to stifle a snort, he did his best to placate his frazzled companion if only to gain himself peace for the rest of the day.

“Oh come on, don’t be such a Katniss Everdeen. There were only five!”

At this Fangs’ eyes widened to a comical size and he gaped at his friend, mind desperately whirring as he struggled to process the fact. _“Five? Only five? But, but_ _I swear I_ _s_ _aw_ _at least ten!”_

Oblivious to Fangs’ inner turmoil Jughead continued, mistakenly reading the serpent’s silence as confusion and trying to explain it quickly to avoid an outburst.

“Okay, look, normally there aren’t that many! I mean most days there’s really only one, but this weekend they all just showed up at once, and it’s not as if I could tell them no.”

A pothole came out of nowhere and Fangs tripped, catching himself just in time to keep from going face-first into the pavement. While the pain in his knees wasn’t exactly welcome, it snapped him out of his shock and he picked his jaw up off the ground just in time to splutter,

“Five? How were there only five?”

Jughead wanted to answer, he really did, but no sooner had the words left Fangs’ mouth than a giant ball of black and white landed squarely on the pale boy’s shoulders. The huge cat had hit him with such momentum that he overbalanced, toppling forwards into Fangs and sending them both tumbling head over heels.

By the time they managed to stop rolling they were a good five feet away from where they’d been conversing, lying in a messy heap on the sidewalk.

A loud honk sounded, and two dark heads whipped around to stare as water truck rolled over the place they’d been standing mere seconds ago. A minute passed, and still their eyes stayed transfixed in the same spot, the square of asphalt that would have been a manslaughter scene had they not moved.

The Siberian meowed loudly, and if Fangs hadn’t known it was a cat he’d have thought it sounded almost...sad? No, worried. The creature was puffed up to it’s full size, and although it had surely been jostled in their fall it stood protectively upon Jughead’s shoulder, yellow eyes gleaming at passersby.

“Did...did the cat just save us from being run over?”

Fangs couldn’t believe that he was asking, but for all the sense it made the animal’s actions had effectively done just that. The answer he received was more of a grumble, considerably muffled due to the fact they were collapsed on top of one another.

“Um, apparently? Yeesh Shakespeare, you could’ve warned me.”

At this point Fangs didn’t know whether to be relieved that Jones seemed as surprised as him, or completely flabbergasted that the guy knew this furball by name. By stretching his arm to its limit he just managed to grab his phone, but with one peak at it he had the sudden urge to throw it into the nearest trash bin.

“Ahhhh hell,” Fangs groaned, extending the offending device so Jughead could view and announcing dejectedly. “The bell for First just rang.”

“You’re kidding, right? Come on!”

Two minutes of twisting, scrabbling and cursing later, and both teens stood panting on the sidewalk, having at last untangled their limbs with the help of a grey cat.

Shifting his bag to better rest on his shoulder, Fangs glared at the rip the feline had left in his jeans, doing his best to ignore the way Jughead was currently thanking “Watson” as he called it.

“Jones...”

At Fangs’ warning tone Jughead turned, and for an instant their eyes met, silently communicating in a way that only Serpents could. _I’ll race you._

As one they swivelled, boots scuffing the concrete and bags swaying wildly, and they ran. Sprinted might have been a better word for it considering the break neck speeds they reached, and neither boy dared to look back even once during the marathon.

The school was still ten minutes away when jogging, and by all rights they should have had five minutes added onto that time with traffic to stop them. Only they didn’t.

Every time they got to a crosswalk they didn’t stop, didn’t so much as slow down, but rather sped up, laughing wildly while their sore feet pounded pavement to beat a band. And in each instance a cat would appear out of nowhere, leaping onto the hood of a car to distract it, or meowing vehemently at someone until they waved there arms for a truck to halt.

One particularly bold tabby actually hit the pedestrian button and set off the red light, causing all humans there to gape wide-eyed as the two dark teens practically flew across the street.

“We’re...almost...there!”

Jughead’s exclamation was breathless at best, but he couldn’t hold back the crazy smile tugging at his lips, and Fangs returned the sentiment with a grin of his own. It was true, and although their maintained pace was starting to hurt, he could just make out the face of Riverdale High.

“This has...got to be a...a record or something!”

His wheezy laugh was cut off by the sight of a black cat yowling at an incoming car, causing the superstitious occupant to swerve in order to avoid not only it, but Fangs and Jughead as well.

“Thanks Stiles, I owe you one!”

Jughead had just enough time to call to the animal before the duo began taking the steps three at a time, leaping farther than anyone in their right mind would attempt until they reached the top. With completely synchronized movements they shot out their arms, barrelling through the front doors of the school and into the halls beyond.

“Shortcut!”

It was all the warning Jughead gave before slamming into the door to the science lab, and Fangs stumbled to keep up with his friend when he started vaulting over desks covered in dangerous chemicals.

Students gasped in surprise, some pulling their experiments out of the way of the emo boy’s sneakered feet just in time, clutching them tightly while he sped past without so much as a glance. Fangs followed close behind but at a slower pace, slinging a couple apologies over his shoulder for his King’s actions as he leaped between tables.

Mere seconds had gone by and they’d somehow bypassed the long halls leading to their English class, having torn through two more classrooms on the way. They were gonna be in so much trouble...

Finally they reached the entrance their homeroom and, without further ado the pair crashed through the door, practically blowing it off it’s hinges as they tumbled in together. The dead silence that greeted their explosive arrival _should_ have stopped the normally shy Serpent King, but it didn’t even faze him.

Grabbing Fangs by his sleeve Jughead made a mad dash for their respective desks, diving head first at the poorly constructed thing and leaving Fangs flailing desperately in midair. The following crash of them hitting the unstable structures was loud enough to wake the dead, which was fortunate since the teacher seemed to have had a heart-attack.

For a moment all that could be heard were Fangs’ muffled curses, then the class dissolved into noise, some laughing while others shouted indignantly. In the resulting riot the teacher frantically tried to reclaim order, students screamed hysterically, and through the ruckus only Fangs and Jughead heard quiet noise emanating from the latter’s bag.

With a sigh Jughead reached into the canvas backpack, his slightly shaking hands returning with an incredibly frightened looking white cat. Setting the animal on his newly-dented desk the noirette allowed himself to slump in his seat, head falling back to rest against his arms as they crossed behind his neck.

“That’s what you get for tripping me, furball.”

Fangs couldn’t hold back the smirk when he addressed the thoroughly shaken feline, and he was about to mock the creature more when a sudden thought occurred to him.

“Hey Jones, what’s this one called?”

His friend cracked open one eye lazily, and for the first time that day Fangs could see the exhaustion pooling in those cerulean orbs. In fact the devious feeling seemed to have invaded Jones’ entire form, sitting heavily on his slack shoulders and pulling cruelly at his already sinking eyelids.

A sigh pushed itself past chapped lips and Jughead shook his head lightly, lifting one long-fingered hand to gesture at the creature in question, and explaining simply.

“Told you, she’s new.” Then, almost as an afterthought he added, “Go for it.”

Fangs froze for a second, staring at his friend as if waiting for some kind of explanation, but the only response Jughead gave was to close his eyes once more, relaxing further into the uncomfortable desk.

_Jones was letting him name the cat? Actually?_

Fangs didn’t know whether he should be miffed at having been left alone to explain their lateness to an angry teacher, or happy that they’d made it in time for part of first. Gazing at his already snoozing leader though, he felt deeply honored somehow that the boy he’d grown such respect for was letting him title one of the mysterious creatures.

It was like allowing a trusted friend to name one of your plush animals in fifth grade, knowing that the identity of this treasured thing was about to be defined by someone other than yourself.

A shout jerked Fangs out of his thoughts, and he turned just in time to see Reggie get decked by Sweet Pea. If he had to guess, he’d say Reggie had in some way insulted Jughead, and as such Sweets had taken the opportunity to punch the smug bastard. Served him right.

Turning back to face Jones’ desk Fangs met the white cat’s eyes, realizing again just how blue the damn things were. It was as if someone had stolen the color from the sky and squashed it into those feline irises, or at least that’s what Fangs’ poet side said. Okay then, how about...

“Alright Clouds, looks like you’re gonna have to help me come up with an excuse since Jones is snoozing.”

Reaching out a calloused hand he rubbed “Clouds” between her large ears, marveling at how soft her fur was when he moved down to stroke he back. She seemed to have no issue with the strange touch and, rather than making a run for it, settled herself more comfortably onto the hard surface, purring like a motorcycle. With a small meow she stretched up to nose at his fingers, encouraging him to continue petting and giving him a look that was much too like “Well, duh.” for his liking.

The classroom echoed with brazen laughter, wild punches were thrown as Serpents and Bulldogs clashed in battle, and a poor teacher shrieked in a last ditch effort to halt the insanity.

In the center of it all an ebony haired boy sat slumped, head tipped back as faint breaths escaped his slightly parted lips, a look of complete peace adorning his features. Behind him in a partially crumbling desk a tall teen chuckled, swatting playfully at the miniature cloud before him with one bronze-skinned hand. A pair of watchful azure eyes peered out from within the mas of white, ever aware of any dangers that might come for the sleeping boy she so zealously guarded.

“ _Yeah,”_ Fangs thought as he booped Clouds’ tiny nose, _“Jones sure is spooky sometimes, but nothing’ll happen to him as long as he’s got you guys.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I say anything else, I'd like to give a shout out to: hoody1077 and Maloree for their comments. I cannot possibly explain how their words touched me, and their kind feedback has inspired me to continue writing this. You guys give my last brain cell motivation, thank you.
> 
> Now, what do you think? I honestly don't know where the idea came from, but I thought it would be really neat to flesh out. It's pretty different from my usual work, still I'm happy with how it turned out. 
> 
> Any objections, questions, or thoughts? Was there anything you really liked that you'd like to see more material on? Fangs and Jughead's friendship, Jughead's school life, Serpent sleepovers? Please, please let me know because I would love to talk about thoughts, answer any questions as best I can, and maybe incorporate any special likes into a future chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> I always had this idea that Jughead would be super stressed and overworked when he was trying to lead the Serpents and get them homes for the winter and stuff, so he'd be really weighed down by all the burden of leadership. This isn't canon at all so whatever happens is gonna ignore what was actually happening in the show at the time.
> 
> Any feedback is appreciated!


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